


These Binary Souls

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cyborgs, Fusion, Future, M/M, almost human - Freeform, are we human or are we dancer?, criminal activity, debate over the existance of a soul, synthetics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:39:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, fusion with Almost Human. No appearances from cannon characters of Almost Human.  Can be read without knowledge of Almost Human. </p><p>Bofur loves his job. Sure he's in deep with one of the largest crime families of the day and his boss' creepy nephews are his new bosses, but every day he gets to work with synthetics and that makes it all worth it. </p><p>Until those creepy nephews bring him something entirely new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The lab was buried under the earth, shielded from the busy surface life by slabs of concrete and beams of steel. Warrens of tunnels led to this underground warehouse filled up with wires, chips and labeled bins stacked on high shelves. This had been a forgotten place once, a lapsed lease, a business going under. There’d been no work at all for the Durins to acquire it. 

Fifteen years ago, Bofur had taken possession of the back right corner and filled it with the tools of his trade. The faces around him had changed since then, men moving up the ranks or back down them, but he remained ever steady. The work evolved, kept his mind stimulated and his hands busy. Unlike the others, he’d never cared much about the family's larger agendas. He preferred not to know. 

Each morning, he journeyed downward with a thermos of coffee in one hand and packed lunch in the other. He went through three doors, each with a different scan to verify identity. The last one was of his own creation, responding only to a few hummed bars of ‘If I Had a Hammer’. 

Today, he strode towards his corner, registering the sounds of industry. His newest round of co-workers were usually out late, gone by the time he settled in for the morning. He had never bothered keeping a criminal’s hours, preferring to mime the real world with his comings and goings. It hardly made a difference. He was as far from the real world as it was possible to go, most of the time.

Yesterday’s work waited for him. Propped up on table, the opened torso flickered intermittently with life. 

“Good morning,” a woman’s head, mounted on a high pedestal smiled warmly at him. 

“Good morning, Elsie. Any calls?” 

“You received two calls. One was a wrong number and the other was Gloin, inquiring about your monthly numbers.” 

“I sent them, didn’t I?” He set down his lunch. 

“No, sir.” 

“Damnation. All right. Set a reminder for me at lunch. I’ll get to it then.” 

“Yes, sir. No appointments for today. No other reminders scheduled.” 

Elsie (LC-19856) was one of his first refurbishments. She’d been an experimental prototype with no standard parts and totally incompatible with current body molds. That had also rendered her unsellable. Bofur had been delighted when he’d been allowed to keep her. Her disconcerting presence was nearly as useful to him as her secretarial services. 

The torso on the work bench was from an OF unit that he thought he could match up with a OC head that was mostly up to spec. On the black market, the unit would fetch a few thousand even with the mismatched parts. The OC programming had been topshelf for it’s time. He sank into his work, the careful diligence of piecing back together and stripping back memory to the core programming. It would do no one any good if the unit retained previous information. All of it would get stored on Durin servers just in case it proved useful. Someone else, somewhere else would have to make that decision. 

The second level subroutines were giving him trouble, sparking occasionally and threatening to fry out an entire matrix. He had hooked it up to a monitor, parsing through lines of code to weed out what seemed to be a virus. Probably why the poor thing got ditched in the first place. Some people saw everything as disposable. Why bother fixing when you could just get a new one?” 

“It’ll be fine, buddy,” Bofur patted the rounded shoulder, “we’ll get you good as new.” 

“Can he hear you?” An amused voice cut through the silence and Bofur’s hand slammed down on the keyboard in surprise. “Whoops. Sorry.” 

Bofur turned to face the intruder and found Kili staring at him. Fili stood a few paces behind him, a wary silent shadow. The brothers, these crown princes, had taken control of the facility nearly a year ago and Bofur still wasn’t used to them. They wore their cybernetics with a raw pride that went against every current trend. Kili’s rough hewn right eye was a piercing blue light in the basement's gloom. It was paired with a metal plate that jutted halfway down his cheek and matched Fili’s left arm, a sleek metal appendage that looked more natural than his real right one. There was rumored to be more under their bulky sweatshirts and loose pants, circuitry that moved blood more efficiently and nets of delicate wiring weaved over muscle that gave them unnatural strength. Rumor wasn't to be trusted, of course, but Bofur kept wary eyes on them nonetheless. 

“Hello, boys,” Bofur crossed his arms over his chest. “What can I do for you?” 

“Just the usual,” Kili looked Bofur dead on, too used to the unsettling power of his gaze. Behind him, Fili’s eyes darted everywhere, waiting for danger. “We’ve got a powerful bit of salvage.” 

“Leave it then and I’ll take a look at it.” 

“I think you’ll want to see it now,” a smile curved over Kili’s teeth, revealing the replaced left canine. It was standard issue for Durins, but most of them hid it in sheathing false enamel. Fili’s supposedly matched his brother’s, but Bofur had never seen the boy smile to confirm it. “This is...special.” 

“Alright,” Bofur lifted his eyebrows. “Impress me.” 

The boys exchanged a wordless look. Bofur had given up on trying to interpret their communications only a few weeks after they’d taken over. They slipped away, leaving him to wonder in silence until they returned, their footsteps heavy now, thudding over the concrete floor. 

His first thought was that they’d killed someone. The body hung limp in their arms, the head hanging low. It was only when they swung it up onto the table that he could make out the faint betrayals of artificial skin. There was a dryness to silicon and the unmistakable pathways, always a shade paler than the skin around them even when unlit. 

“Where did you find this?” He demanded, leaning in to inspect the face. There were a thousand tiny details crafted into it, some of them even subtle signs of aging. “This is a one off. Someone with a lot of money had this made up.” 

“Found it,” Kili said blandly in a way that certainly meant bloody theft. “Does it matter?” 

“It matters because there’s no fucking way I can make it market-ready,” he pried open an eyelid, stared into the iris. The color was beautiful, an interweave that shifted with the light from blue to green to brown. 

“What? C’mon. It’s got to be worth a fortune,” Kili protested. "It's nearly intact."

“Sure. A hundred grand, easy, but like I said, it’s all custom. I can’t just file off a few serial numbers and make it good. Someone is missing this thing right now and if they have the kind of money it takes to make it, they have the kind of money it takes to find it.” 

“Shit,” Kili’s dirty hand touched the robot’s cheek with unexpected gentleness, “I guess I should have known that. But he was just....lying there. Turned off. Didn't look like anyone had taken care of him in a long time.” 

Surprised, Bofur studied Kili’s face and found compassion there. Kili caught him and snatched his hand back as if it were on fire. 

“I can work on him,” Bofur offered before he could think it through. “He looks like he’s in good condition. It wouldn’t take long. And we could probably use an assistant down here.” 

There was a soft pained sound. It took a long moment for Bofur to pin it to Fili. There was no expression on his face, lips sealed closed as usual, but the sound was definitely from him. For the first time, Bofur actually saw how young that face was, how vulnerable. And Kili was the younger brother. He called them boys, but he thought of them as soldiers. As men. As frightening vehicles of potential violence. But they really were boys. Boys bringing him a broken toy, salvaged from someone else’s carelessness. 

“Yeah,” Kili croaked, not turning to face his brother, “yeah, you should do that. Fix him up.” 

“You got it,” he tried to sound nonchalant. 

They stole away when he bent over the synthetic again. Their silence at least, couldn't be pinned on a synthetic. It seemed as natural to them as breathing. 

“Just us then,” Bofur sighed, running his fingers over the face plate until it came away to reveal the network beneath. “Let’s see what you’re made of.” 

It took some doing finding a monitor hookup. Whoever had created the synthetic had gone out of their way to make it appear functionally human. It had features he’d never seen before like a working digestive system and tear ducts. A synthetic that could cry. 

“Why would someone do that to you?” He pulled away fabricated skin, marveling at the individual hairs picked out on the forearms. 

There were other oddities. The height for one. Even lying down, it was clear the synthetic was barely over five feet tall. The hair, for another. The curly softness resisted Bofur’s attempts to pull it back, shielding the complicated workings with unnatural ferocity. It had been designed to look non-threatening. It was still dressed, neatly and expensively though that was less unusual. The rich could afford to waste money on things like a synthetic's clothing. 

It didn’t surprise Bofur at all when he finally loosened the chest piece and found ‘DRN-BLB-1’ inscribed where it mattered. 

“Synthetic Soul,” he muttered, “Behold the death of God.” 

“Sir,” Elsie sprang online, “the monthly numbers.” 

“Right,” he blinked rapidly, coming up from a swamp of concentration. “Right.” 

He did the report too quickly, probably making errors that would bring Gloin down around his ears. As he worked, he ate and drank trying to eliminate all possible distractions at once. Then he returned the glorious thing on his table, this miracle made of zeros and ones. So lost was he in the beauty of it, the elegant twist of code that gave birth to intuition instead of cold reason, that he almost missed the signs of damage. A thin crack in a strut that hid a rupture. Someone had taken a blunt force object to the elegant cage that protected the main hard drive. 

“You were murdered,” Bofur murmured as he traced the damage. 

Or at least someone had tried, but synthetics were tough to kill. It took hours of careful, delicate work to mend the fractured pathways. The timeless fluorescent lights went on shining into the shadows of Bofur’s basement. 

At last, the diagnostic program beeped contently instead of shuddering out alarms. 

“Nearly done,” Bofur patted one of the synthetic's hands. 

He hesitated when he reached the memory. Two dozen petabytes of information. That was years of sensory input, data gathering and calibrations. But that wasn’t what made him hesitate. Synthetic Soul added whole other layers to that data if the vids and files he’d consumed once upon a time were to be believed. This synthetic memory carried more than data. 

He wasn’t just erasing information, he was taking years away of a life lived. 

“I’m sorry,” he typed the line in slowly and felt a heaviness as it was all swept away. Off to storage in some distant minion's hands, who would shift through it with bored greed.

There was no choice, of course. If the synthetic remembered, it was a danger. It would want to return to its owner and it would do anything in its power to do so. Still, Bofur regretted it. Out of some unknown instinct, he cradled the hand he had patted in his own as the bar ticked away. Emptied, the monitor blinked and then asked ‘Restart?” 

He hit the enter key. 

The beautiful, changeable eyes shot open. The hand between his own twitched, the fingers jerking to life. The synthetic sat up, surveyed its surroundings and landed on Bofur’s face. 

“Hello,” it said and it had a nice voice, bemused, but mellow, “I’m Bilbo.” 

“Hello, Bilbo.” 

Bilbo tilted his head slightly to one side, accessing him, “I can’t locate you in any of my databanks. This doesn’t look like Bag End.”

“What’s Bag End?” 

“I’m meant to be shipped there. On special order to...to..” Bilbo frowned, “I can’t remember. The name should be there. Why isn’t it there?”

“There’s been a change in plans,” Bofur tried to sound upbeat, “you’ll be staying here with me instead.” 

And because it wasn’t quite a lie, none of Bilbo’s delicate sensors would alert him. Definitely a him now. Once they were awake, Bofur never could think of them as ‘it’ anymore. Even if he could, Bilbo was already different. He’d already shown three distinct facial expressions and he’d barely been active for a minute. 

“And who,” Bilbo’s gaze fell to their joined hands, “are you?” 

“My name is Bofur. I restore synthetics and I could use some assistance,” Bofur pulled his hands away, gathering them in his lap. A prickle of heat gathered under his skin. 

“Yes,” Bilbo huffed, “I can see that. Do you know that the Frenulum connection is on backwards in that OC? Also, it smells like mold in here and I'm not sure if that's the room or you.” 

"Amazing!" Bofur grinned. "You're amazing." 

"Am I?" Bilbo frowned again. "You're very peculiar." 

"It's been said. Though never by a synthetic before." 

"Synthetic," Bilbo repeated the word and it sounded rotten in his mouth. 

That was probably the moment that Bofur should have turned Bilbo off. Should have done his research on the entire DRN line and remind himself why Synthetic Soul had been yanked off the market. But he was not a man to live his life on should haves. 

"Let's see how your joints are," he had said instead and sat back in satisfaction as Bilbo took his first steps into this strange new world.


	2. Chapter 2

The text scrawled unobtrusively under Kili’s line of sight. It was just a few nonsense words, a flag to catch his attention more than an actual statement. The room was packed and his attention split in a dozen places. The party was in full swing and Kili had drank deeply, his head spinning pleasantly as he kept up two conversations and his biometric eye fed him an ongoing stream of data.

In the din, Fili’s words should have been lost. Should have been, but never were. Perhaps it was long habit or perhaps some inorganic part of his brain had long ago resorted Kili’s priorities and left his brother embedded in the first spot. Either way, Kili sent _?_ back instantly.

_Report just came over the line. Bofur was right, someone reported that synthetic missing._

Kili hadn’t heard his brother’s voice in fifteen years, but he always read those blue italics in their own distinct tone. It was pitched slightly lower than his own voice and always rang with mix of patience and irritation.

 _Who reported it?_ he sent back.

_Unstated. I bet it isn’t the original owner. We should tap Ori to look at the memory banks._

_Do it. Tell him it's priority. I'll be home before around one._

_I won’t wait up._

Kili got back to their apartment, that seedy jumbled warren with more tech than furniture, just after three am. Fili was sitting on the sagging couch, legs folded up into a lotus and a game controller lying fallow in his lap.

“Thought you weren’t waiting up?”

Fili shrugged, a one shouldered affair that made Kili narrow his eyes. Without a word he stalked into the kitchen, returning with the sweet olive oil he’d picked up last week. It was some expensive import, biting into their limited budget, but Fili’s nose always wrinkled when the scent of the cheap stuff lingered on them too long. It reminded them both of bitter, younger days when everything ached and every seam of their patchwork bodies seemed to shudder under the burden.

Spotting the bottle, Fili made an annoyed aborting gesture, but didn’t struggle when Kili yanked at the hem of his sweatshirt. There was a long sleeved shirt underneath that which Fili removed with care, exposing the white undershirt beneath and the twisted rope of flesh that delineated the end of human tissue and the beginning of the prosthetic. There was another layer beneath the worn white cloth, a map of an unnatural fusion that lit bright blue lines over fair skin. Slowly the lights blinked out, one by one, a show of disarmament that no one outside these shabby walls or the lab had seen in years.

Kili sat back on his heels, waiting.

 _The Doctor called today._ The text scrolled by, rewarding Kili’s patience. _They’ve got something new. Bit of mouth work._

“Don’t know if I like them playing around with your insides,” it was Kili’s perennial protest.

_They could hardwire my tongue like a synthetic’s. Walking chemical lab._

“Yeah, but you’re not a fucking synth. You can’t go around gulping down the same shit and live to tell the tale,” the bottle bent under his grip and Kili had to relax it consciously.

_It’d be useful._

“You’re already the most useful person I know. Stop trying to hog all the glory. You ready or what?”

The last line faded away and Fili nodded, leaning towards Kili. It must be bad if he wasn’t going to protest any further. The oil dripped cool onto Kili’s fingers, the sensation registering at odds between his natural thumb and pointer versus the prosthetic on pinkie, index and forefinger. Those he kept covered in lab grown skin. It didn’t do to give it all away up front, after all.

With ease of long practice, Kili smoothed the oil over the scar tissue. A whisper of a shiver rattled through Fili until his eyes sank half-closed. In the dim glow of the monitors, his pale eyelashes cast fine shadows over his cheeks. Oil trickled down metal and Kili chased it, soothing it into every nook and cranny.

“Made contact with the Mirkwood faction tonight,” he reached the complex hand and gently flexed each finger, checking range of motion, “that’s why I was late. They’ve got a new thing going. A drug. They’re calling it Shine, can you believe that shit? They’re claiming it’s a perfect drug: addictive, non-destructive and expensive. Apparently the FDA might even approve it as a sleep aid if they can grease the right palms. Imagine that. Could make them enough to go totally legit.”

 _If you can call pharmaceuticals ‘legit’,_ Fili scoffed, _Why’re they telling you anyway?_

 _“_ Hey, I happen to be a trusted diplomat.”

__Yeah and you always bitch that neither side tells you anything, so what gives?_ _

“...true. I don’t know, actually. Tauriel told me though. She’s not exactly Thranduil’s biggest fan. She thinks we should work together more,” she’d seemed upset at the party. Telling him all these secrets when she was normally just as closed mouthed as the rest of them, “Maybe there’s something bigger out there that’s got them all spooked. I mean, why would the Mirkwoods even want to go legit? They’ve held half the city for years without trouble.”

 _ _You think the rumors are true?_ _ Fili raised an eyebrow.

“No...yes. Maybe? It’s been a strange week though, hasn’t it?”

 _No stranger than usual,_ the denial was betrayed by the tightening around Fili’s lips.

“Yeah, whatever. Rotate it, soldier. Let’s see if that helped any.”

Fill rolled his eyes, but obligingly held out his arm and described a large circle. Kili caught and held it, searching Fili’s face for any sign of stiffness or pain. There was none to find, but Fili had become disturbingly good at hiding it.

_If you’re done molesting me, I’d like to go to bed._

Kili dropped Fili’s arm as if it were on fire. It had been years since they’d last fooled around and Kili had gotten plenty of experience since. Hell, even Tauriel had given him a go or two back in the day before they’d decided that the fucking wasn’t worth the risk. Yet, Fili could bust him straight back to adolescent shame and excitement with a look or a careless phrase. He never seemed to notice.

“Good night,” Kili capped the olive oil.

Night, there was a quiet ‘clack’, the press of Fili’s thumb against Kili’s ruined cheek. This small caress, metal on metal more intimate than a kiss and yet utterly impersonal, belonged solely between them.

Kili glanced up in time to catch Fili picking up his sweatshirt and the network of blue lights to flicker and catch back into life. The door to Fili’s bedroom closed and locked.

With a flick of his wrist, Kili turned off the monitors, the console and the few dim lights, then headed to bed. His room, a warren of boxes and a bed that was more pillows than mattress had a single window. The pale lights of the city intruded through the curtains. He stripped down to skin then went through the slow process of detaching the face plate that held his biometric eye in place. Technically he could sleep with it on. Technically, he never had to remove it except for a weekly swabbing of the tissue beneath it.

But he liked the cool air on his face and the temporary silencing of a thousand electronic observations. Fili knew that if he wanted Kili’s attention before noon, then he was free to come into the room and wake him. Unencumbered, he settled into his nest and closed his eyes against the world.

If he dreamed, he didn’t remember. All he knew was that he woke to the drumming of rain on the window. Coffee and voices roused him further, dragging him upwards. If someone was in their apartment and Fili hadn’t woken him, it was an ally. He affixed his eye, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and stumbled bare chested into the kitchen.

“Aren’t you a sight,” Ori’s hands were wrapped around a mug as he perched on the arm of the couch. Fili, a faint minty dampness about him that suggested a shower, was already swathed in his layers.

“My apartment, my uniform,” Kili grinned recklessly, fighting the urge to retrieve a t-shirt and hide the tide line of burn scars that licked up his ribs. “That better not be my coffee.”

“Fili made a whole pot,” Ori brought up one foot, setting his mug on his knee. “High octane.”

“Thank, fuck.”

The coffee did have a motor oil sheen and tasted bitter. A spill of milk and their own private drug cocktail (nothing crazy just some light painkillers, stimulants and, autoimmune suppressants) brought it to a reasonable facsimile of drinkable. For lack of anywhere else to sit, Kili wound up leaning against the kitchen counter with his treasure.

“Spent all night crawling through this, so you boys better appreciate it,” Ori chimed, “could you, Fili?”

With a tight nod, Fili turned his palm upward and projected a scrawl of data onto a patch of blank wall. Kili studied it as if it meant anything to him, using it as cover to take in biometric data. Fili hadn’t slept enough, no surprise there, but his heart rate was fine and his breathing even. No distress. Ori read at normal levels though he’d lost weight he could ill afford to shed since the last time they’d met face to face.

 _ _Ordering breakfast from Sandy’s,__ he flickered over to Fili, __what do you want?_ _

_For you to pay attention,_ there was a short pause _and a bagel with garlic cream cheese, two hard boiled eggs and orange juice._

Kili sent in a full order and paid before Ori got around to actually explaining what they were looking at.

“-so you were right,” he had out his pen, tapping it against his lips. Kili had never actually seen Ori write with the damn thing. “The unit was first stolen about five years ago. The original owner, one Belladonna Took, reported it missing. She’d only had it a few months and it hadn’t started manifesting any of the typical DRN behaviors.”

“DRN?” Kili glanced at Fili, who evaded eye contact. He’d known. Of course he had. “Sounds familiar.”

“All the rage back then. They had this operating system, ‘Synthetic Soul’?” Ori shrugged. “It was supposed to the second coming of synthetics. Real empathy and emotions. Whatever ‘real’ means. Problem was, made them bugfuck nuts, you know? It took awhile to manifest though, so a whole bunch of them went online before they noticed.

“Ms. Took here ordered one up as a companion and sort of manservant, mostly. Her house was busted into and they took most of her jewelry. At the time, the police thought that the DRN had tried to stop them and they’d shorted him out, taken him too. Hard to tell from the memory banks, but I think they were wrong.”

“Why’s it hard to tell?” Kili took another sip of coffee.

“Oh, well...that’s where it gets interesting. The DRN tried to wipe itself out, it looks like. Maybe once it got taken? They’re programmed to be loyal to their owners, so if it sensed that it had information the thieves wanted, it would have flushed its systems.”

“Shit,” the hot liquid soured in his stomach. Fili scrubbed a hand over his face. “He blanked himself for her? I hope she was worth it.”

“Uh, yeah? I guess,” Ori glanced between them in confusion, “anyway. Banks are a lot clearer after that. Someone fumbled through a basic reprogramming, but they were shit at it and couldn’t blank out the original. It was used to map out a system of tunnels under the city. They got complacent, let it out on its own. It was clever, used a combination of radio waves to make itself invisible to GPS, fell of their grid.

“Not clever enough though. It had a run in with something else that was using that dead spot. Hard to tell what. It registers as human, but it’s pretty quick and it could talk. The DRN took a hard blow, managed to get away, but it was too damaged to get out of the tunnels. It goes blank about three hours after that fight. I’m guessing whoever you plucked it from found it fairly soon after that. Too long in the tunnels and the skin would have started to degrade in the damp. Looks like whoever found it, didn’t bother much with it. Didn’t see any attempts at repair. But they definitely noticed it go missing. That report Fili caught was high priority.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Kili set his empty mug aside.

“Is that enough to go on?” Ori’s studied the lines of code. “I could go deeper.”

“Leave it be for now,” Kili decreed. The perimeter alarms jangled across his vision, he set scans and identified it as Sandy’s delivery boy. “Stay for breakfast.”

They talked about inconsequential things, Kili keeping Ori’s attention on him. Fili preferred if no one watched him tear his food down to small swallow-able bites. It wasn’t hard to get Ori talking on his latest art installation and Kili knew how to encourage such flows. Ori left them in a merry mood, whistling as he went out the door.

“You knew he was a DRN,” Kili accused when he was sure Ori was gone.

 _I suspected,_ Fili stared him down. _Does it matter?_

 _“_ Of course it matters! I know how...fucking mental you are over those things, but we’re playing with fire. W.Y.R.M. already as an APB out on him! You heard what Ori said, he wiped himself to keep this Took person safe. That means he’s still hard-encoded to her. Doesn’t matter how far down Bofur wipes, that’s in there. Rooted. He’ll fight hard to get back to her and he could blow our whole operation!”

 _ _Bofur woke him up already. Said he doesn’t remember a thing. I checked in while you were still sleeping,_ _ Fili crossed his arms over his chest, picture of hardlined defiance _, _we had to take him._ _

“YOU had to take him with your goddamn bleeding heart. It was supposed just be recon, remember? Uncle is going to kill us,” he gathered up the detritus, shoving it into the overstuffed trash, “we’re bringing fire down on us.”

 _The W.Y.R.M have no idea who took him and they won't look long if they don't find him. What do they care about one broken synthetic? They just don't like misplacing a treasure,_ Fili huffed a hard breath through his nose, _Anyway, you’re the one that carried him out. You could’ve refused me, left him there._

“No, I couldn’t,” the sink rinsed crumbs from his fingers, sweeping them away into those dank tunnels they’d navigated through only twenty-four hours ago. “You’d never forgive me.”

_They’re just like us, you know._

_“_ They’re nothing like us!” Kili whirled on his heels, surprised at his own ferocity. “Why do...you’re human for fuck’s sake. You were born out of womb, you grew up. You’re memories can’t be wiped at a push of a button or your loyalties programmed. You. Aren’t. Them.”

 _You’re right,_ Fili stood from the table, stalking back towards his room, _they at least have an excuse of programming to act like monsters._

The door slammed shut. Kili composed half a dozen pissed off replies and let them all die. It wasn’t a battle he would win today if he hadn’t the last dozen times they’d had it. He even understood Fili to a point. He couldn’t help, but look into a synthetic’s eyes and see himself in that too steady gaze, in those careful lines of programming.

He was halfway to a hot shower to sluice away the discomfort of the morning when the call came in. Priority. Fuck.

“Uncle,” he answered, audio only so he could fake cheer, “how are you this morning?”

“Meeting in an hour,” Thorin barked, “I want a full report from yesterday’s recon. It’ll be a full house.”

“Yes, sir,” he rubbed at his budding headache. Just what he needed, an audience.

“There are motions at work,” Thorin added, almost an afterthought, “we might be ready to move in the next few weeks.”

The call ended before Kili could follow that up. He threw a text at Fili alerting him before getting into the shower. He took his sweet time getting dressed, pulling on all his dark layers, tucking away the ruins and leaving only the hard steel of the man left in their wake visible to the world. There was an image to uphold, after all. Fili stood by the door, waiting and wary.

“Sorry,” Kili offered weakly, “let’s just deal with it later, alright? No reason for Uncle to know about it right away. Maybe we can...I don't know. Bury him with Bofur for now. He's not likely to tell if no one asks.”

Fili’s nodded once, sharply.

“Awesome,” he engaged the locks and walked away. Fili fell into step besides him.


	3. Chapter 3

The world lives again. There’s no other way Bilbo could describe it.  He had more artistic license with his vocabulary than most synthetics, but he was never inclined to poetry.  One moment, only one tiny subroutine had carried on his wounded data banks, the next a rush of of information. Sights and smells and the sensation of slight warm weight. It took him entire microseconds to sort through it all and contextualize it to: warehouse, metal table, person (organic) holding his hand.

Over the next two weeks, he took in a lot more information. Cascades of impressions and thoughts, but none of them came to him in quiet moments like that first rush of confusion. Or how it had resolved down to a single point of a hand curved over his own.

“Do you think it’s possible for me to have an obsession?” Bilbo asked Bofur.

Mostly because he was the only person he could ask. He’d been consigned to this dark basement since his awakening, acting as assistant and companion all at once. When Bofur left, Bilbo reached out into the world, pulling in what information was allowed to him. No permissions had been given to access specialized data, but Bofur hadn’t restricted any of his normal allowances.  So Bilbo sucked down the changes since his last sync (dated four years prior and he still had no way of accounting for that) until he had to recharge.

“Depends what kind of obsession,” Bofur peered deep into a damaged wrist joint, “hand me the soldering iron?”

“An obsessive thought. Something I keep returning to,”  Bilbo picked up the tool, but didn’t hand it over. “I could do that with more precision.”

“Sure and put me out of a job too,” Bofur grinned and took the tool gently from him,”  it took Bofur twice as long to do then it would have taken Bilbo and it would have been a neater job. Yet, he could see that they way Bofur had done it would improve the connection. Interesting.  “Why do you go back to it?”

“I don’t know. There’s no mystery to it or anything that my subroutines shouldn’t have sorted by now. That’s why it’s odd.”

“How does the thought make you feel? Anxiety can do that sometimes,”

“Anxiety,”  he turned the sensation over, “no. It’s not a negative feeling. It makes me happy.”

“That’s not obsessive then,” setting the solder aside, Bofur glanced up at him. “reliving happy memories is standard operating procedure for humans too.”

“It seems like an odd thing to allow, doesn’t it?” he began to organize the desk area, shuffling like pieces together. “Why would someone intentionally design us to do that?”

“Humans have been asking that question long before we first banged two cogs together,” Bofur eyed Bilbo’s work nervously, “If you’re bored, you can start breaking down that MR. Anything potentially useful stick in a bin. Everything else, put in the recycling bin.”

“Oh,” Bilbo turned to survey the broken mess brought in by one of the scavengers that morning. It didn’t look anything like him, yet he was troubled by the idea of stripping it down to parts.

“A friend of mine once worked in a morgue,” Bofur said casually, “I asked him how he could manage it. Being around the dead all the time. He said that he liked the dead better than the living. Isn’t that strange?”

“No,” Bilbo remembered the other, less enhanced units he’d met before he was prepared for shipping. In the abstract, he cared for them, but in the immediate personal sense it was like talking to a refrigerator and about as enlightening. “I can understand that.”

“MRs are government spec. Mostly used in office situations where confidentiality is critical. Politicians love them.”

“I’ll bet,” Bilbo picked up a joint, beaten into a practically unidentifiable state. “This one know something it shouldn’t then?”

“No idea. Sometimes...”

“Sometimes what?” Bilbo turned, trying to catch Bofur’s full expression. He found sadness there and irritation too.

“Sometimes, people are just wasteful,” he shook his head, casting off the the thought and nearly sending his peculiar hat flying across the room. “MRs aren’t cheap, but their repairs are steeper than replacement.”

They both stayed quiet a moment, letting that thought grow between them. Bilbo worked a finger into the joint, pulled free a long thin pin and dropped it into an empty bin.

“You resent when people qualify things as useless. You find ways to make everything work again.”

“If I can,” Bofur shrugged, “there’s a limited amount of resources in the world. What’s convenient isn’t always what’s best.”

“Did you always believe that?” Another pin clattered into the bin.

“I worked for a toy manufacturer for a long time. Not the cheap plastic nonsense, but those interactive things. Did you ever see a Sir Bearsalot?”

“I’ve seen pictures,” Bilbo added it to his list of things to investigate. Toys had never much interested him, for obvious reasons. Though he could recall one thing: a tiny wooden ship with an old fashioned sail. Where had that come from?

“Ah well, that was one of mine. Cute little thing. Gave him enough cognition to read a child’s mood and tell them the right kind of story. Guess they overestimated the interest and wound up with a surplus after a rough holiday season. Hundreds of them left on the factory floor. I suggested that we donate them,” he snorted, “Naive of me. The vice president of sales told me it would be ‘bad for the brand image’ to see too many poor kids with them. So instead, they destroyed them. Not even in a useful way. Just sent ‘em to a trash compactor.”

“That must’ve been upsetting,” the bent cantilever in the joint wouldn’t give and Bilbo reluctantly set it into recycling.

“I went into toymaking because it was joyful,” Bofur turned the wrist he’d been working on over in his hand. “After that, I lost my taste for it. Turns out I had a few useful skills left though. Guess you could say I was recycled.”

“You’re recycling me too, aren’t you?” The question had been building at the back of his mind. “Like this MR, like Elsie. We’re used goods.”

“What makes you think you’re used?”

“Because I’m not an idiot,” Bilbo scoffed, “four years and no one ever turned me on? And I wake up in a shop that specializes in recommissioning or stripping down synthetics? It doesn’t take a great leap of logic to put that together.”

He didn’t say that he remembered a wooden boat or the light falling over lush greenery or the smell of baking bread. They’re insubstantial and they don’t resemble the memories of the place he was created, yet he was certain that they were based in some reality.

“It’s happened,” Bofur set down his work, giving Bilbo his full attention, “but yes. I suppose you could say that you’re recycled.”

“Did I fail? Malfunction?” He pulled apart the last salvageable sections of the joint. The pieces sat inert in his palms. “I’ve read the articles. The standard model, the ones made for the police, they were deemed ‘unstable’. Was I unstable? Did I hurt someone?”

“I don’t know,” Bofur studied him,  “But I don’t think you hurt anyone. In fact, I think you were protecting someone.”

“How can you tell?” He let the parts tumble into the bin.

“Like you said, the DRNs were standard for police. If you were commissioned for a private owner, they’d do modifications, but they couldn’t change that core part of you. So maybe you were personal security.”

“That’s a big leap without evidence to substantiate it.”

“That’s humans for you,” turning back to his desk, Bofur seemed to end the conversation.

Bilbo didn’t stop thinking about it though. It didn’t take much thought to break down the MR, just steady careful work. He brought up more information about Sir Bearsalot, finding a lot of positive reviews and an article about the surplus. One blogger wrote about having one as a child and judging by their vocabulary and tone, they were already into their early twenties at least. It had been some years ago then.

_What I liked most about it_ , wrote the blogger, _was the eyes. Yes, the stories were good and the rudimentary movements were fun, but all of those still have equals in the market. But Sir Bearsalot had unusually lifelike eyes for a stuffed toy. They were a deep brown and not a trace of the too glassy sheen that gives most toys a dead feeling. They were eyes that understood, eyes that listened. When he told his stories, I didn’t play with other toys or do my homework. I gave him my full attention just as I would’ve a real person. Maybe even more so._

The crinkle of a plastic bag broke Bilbo’s concentration.  Bofur had taken out his lunch, the same meal replacement bar and lukewarm bottle of water he had every day.

“There’s enough chemicals in those to preserve your organs post-mortem,” Bilbo said dryly. “Don’t you ever eat a vegetable?”

“Not if I can help it,” Bofur laughed. “You sound just like my mother.”

“She must be a very smart woman.”

“Ha. Yes, I suppose she was. Always after me to watch my diet. Actually, the bars were to make her feel better. They contain more nutrients than six servings of vegetables,” he brandished the wrapper as evidence. Bilbo took it from him, scanning the list of ingredients.

“Half of these can’t be broken down properly by a human digestive system. How many of these do you eat?”

“Dunno. Two a day usually. Breakfast and lunch. Sometimes dinner if I don’t have time to get take out.”

“You should be dead,” Bilbo’s eyes widened in horror.

“Thanks for that,” Bofur took the wrapper back with a wrinkle of indication in his nose.

“But-”

“Look, you want a say in my diet then you should cook for me.”

“Maybe I will,”  Bilbo challenged.

“Would you?” Gone was the indignation replaced with pleased surprise. “Can you?”

“Of course I can. Basic housekeeping was in my original specifications and finding new recipes is simple,” he frowned, “I couldn’t here though. You don’t have any facilities for that kind of thing.”

“I have a kitchen in my unit. It’s nothing much, but other people seem to get by just fine on it.”

Which was how Bilbo wound up finally leaving the basement. He inhaled deeply when they emerged on the street, filling up his diagnostics with a dizzying amount of information. They pinpointed his location and directed him to the nearest grocery store.

“This wasn’t where I was supposed to be,” he told Bofur even as they started across the street. “Bag End is miles from here. In the country.”

“I know,” Bofur smiled sheepishly at him, “I looked it up when you mentioned the name. Will you be running back there now that you can?”

“Is this a test?”

It wouldn’t be hard to get away. Bofur wasn’t in terrible shape, but he wasn’t young or particularly fit. Bilbo could easily outrun him and then it would just be a matter of staying out of camera range on the streets and occasionally siphoning power off the public lines. He could probably walk to Bag End in a matter of days.

“A bit, yeah,” there was a casual shrug as if Bofur wasn’t risking the loss of a top of the line, if slightly outdated, piece of equipment. “You should know though that person that commissioned you isn’t there any more.”

“Where are they?”

“Dunno. Just not listed at that address anymore.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Dunno.”

“That isn’t an answer,” Bilbo shook his head. “I don’t understand you.”

“Reckon I don’t understand myself, so there you have it.’

“I don’t have anything.”

They came up to the grocery and went inside. It was full of people, going about their business. Bilbo idly surveyed them as Bofur wrestled with a cart. Most of them appeared tired and annoyed, but nothing outside of normal parameters. There were two old women chatting happily in front of a display of produce. Bilbo watched them for longer than was strictly nesassary.

“Where to?” Bofur asked.

“Is there anything you actually like to eat that doesn’t come in a wrapper?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m not a complete heathen. I like plenty of things.”

“What about a favorite?”

“My mother’s meatloaf,” he answered immediately. “But don’t make meatloaf. I’ll always be comparing it to hers, can’t be helped.  What about spaghetti and meatballs? Haven’t had those in ages.”

“Fajitas,” he sorted through a list of recipes, ranked by rating and complexity. “Yes, I can do that.”

With a task in mind, the idea of running away faded into the background. It was pleasant moving through the aisles and picking up ingredients. Bofur asked him a lot of questions, particularly about how he choose one green pepper over another. It wasn’t until they’d begun adding things for further meals that Bilbo thought to ask,

“Can you actually afford this? I assumed all those bars meant you were just careless about your health but...”

“Yeah, I can. I don’t make a mint, but I can spring for a few leafy things once and a while,” Bofur grinned. “Surprised you didn’t just check my financials.”

“That would have been rude.”

“Does rudeness bother you?”

“Yes, doesn’t it bother everyone?” He picked up a box of steel cut oats, reading the back to determine that they seemed fairly foolproof.

“Not that I’m aware. Most synthetics I know don’t fuss much about those things. They prefer to be direct.”

“I suppose that I’m not most synthetics.”

“No,” Bofur leaned over the cart, a funny sort of smile on his face, “I suppose you’re not at that.”

Bofur’s apartment was a vast open space of what must’ve once been a warehouse. There weren’t walls delineating rooms, just a set of cupboards and a cooker in one corner and a curtain rod shielding off the bathroom facilities in another. The light filtered in through dirty windows, obscuring the messy piles that dotted the area between couch and bed. With all the space though, it was difficult to find it cluttered. If anything, it felt almost empty. There was a small huddle of photos on low table. Bilbo crouched down to study them, still holding several grocery bags.

“My brothers,” Bofur pointed to three photos clustered together. They were old, Bofur’s hair a thick black sheen and his face hairless and smooth. The other two boys looked only passingly like him. “Bombur runs a restaurant and Bifur oversees his larder.”

“And this?” Bilbo picked up the last photo, a crowded group shot with the three men only a little older shoved into the right side of the frame.

“College friends,” Bofur looked away.  

“Right,” Bilbo set the photo down.  The faces were locked into his memory and out of habit, he started running them against his databases. Bofur had never shown up in them, apparently a life lived cleanly and mostly off the grid.

Bilbo made dinner, learning the feel of raw meat rolled between his fingers and the imprecision of recipes. Bofur doesn’t leave his side, popping open a beer and watching beneath the dark curve of his eyelashes. It wasn’t intrusive, exactly, but Bilbo felt very aware of his presence. When the sauce seemed warm enough, Bilbo dipped a spoon into it and took a small taste.

“I’ve never seen a synthetic eat before.”

“You’re not seeing it now. I can’t consume any meaningful quantities, but a bite here or there is easily disposed of.”

“What does it taste like to you?”

“Like a combination of precise chemicals and organic matter,” Bilbo set the spoon back down.

“What about good or bad?”

“I don’t have enough basis for comparison yet.”

“True,” Bofur took the spoon, flicked his tongue over sauce, then grinned. “It’s good, trust me on this.”

“What does it taste like to you?”

“Hm. It’s acidic, but with a sweetness that cuts it so its not too much.”

Bilbo watched Bofur eat, that messy unattainable process. Bofur talked through his food, engaging Bilbo on some stray point of news that they’d both come across. It was how Bilbo had imagined a conversation over dinner should go. It was pleasant, he decided, even if he couldn’t share.

“I’ve got a chargeport here,” Bofur said when all the plates had gone into the dishwasher, “I mean, I could take you back to work if you’d rather.”

“No,” Bilbo said immediately, “here is fine.”

And it was fine. Fine enough that they did again the next night and the night after. Bilbo didn’t miss the silent nights in the basement in the least.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Contains violence.

Halfway to the assignment, they got caught in a crossfire. It was unlucky, not poor planning or their own distraction, but the danger was real no matter how it came about. They spend the better part of an hour pinned behind a garbage compactor in a filthy alley while Kili takes careful shots with his natural eye squeezed shut.

There was little Fili could do, but wait. He’s not good at distances, engineered for close and dirty fights. Most of the time, his way was of more use. Usually it was Kili chafing at the bit and half-mad with waiting. Fili’s fingers flexed in his lap as he listened to the hail of bullets. At last, silence descended and Kili sank down beside him.

“Fuck,” Kili let out an exhausted laugh, his head resting on the compactor. “Could’ve done without that.”

_Are you hurt?_ Fili asked, trying to make out Kili’s face in the growing dim. 

“Nah. I’m not sure they even knew we were back here. Just another weapon in the fight, you know?”

They waited for an interminable time, listening to footsteps and hissed arguments. The package they’d been sent to deliver dug into Fili’s back and the gluggy smell of rot permeated the air. Fili counted backwards from a hundred in threes.  Beside him, he could make out each of Kili’s breaths as they eased from hyperalert down to baseline.

“Let’s go,” Kili finally decided. “I’d rather deal with a gun then another second here.”

They got up slowly, surveying the alley before heading back out into the world. Sirens pierced the air, but there wasn’t a cop car or witness in sight. Whatever gangs had gotten down and dirty had already cleared out and taken their fallen with them. Kili went right, so Fili followed him. They still had the package to deliver, along with Thorin’s message. Procrastination wasn’t an option. 

“I need a shower,” Kili shoved his hands into his pockets. “So do you. Possibly two.”

_That’s just your natural odor,_  the humor came stiffly, a reminder that their fight still thickened the air. Fili wasn’t sure if they would talk about it again or if it would just be another brick in the wall of resentments built carefully up between them. 

“Fuck off,”  Kili gritted out. “Let’s get this over with.”

They had a car, a battered looking roadster with a deceptively fast engine. There were a few new bullet holds in the trunk which Kili caressed with a frown. They’d be gone by the end of the week, ironed away under Kili’s careful tools.Since Kili had earned his license, he was the primary driver.  Sometimes Fili suspected that said something about his own masculinity, but he hardly cared. There weren't many people left alive that would dare to call him passive or feminine. 

The streets were quiet, the late night business of criminals and whores giving way to grey-green early morning sky. Finch and his boys would just be finishing up their night’s hard work of peddling stolen goods. Sure enough, the heavy metal door at the back of the warehouse was propped open, a worn through jittering junkie standing guard with an assault rifle in his hands and a cigarette half-dead between his lips.

“Ready?” Kili jammed the car into park, light in his eye.

_We’re not going in hot,_  Fili reminded him. _Chill._

“I’m chilled.”

Fili went first, Kili a too large target at his back. The junkie saw them coming, fumbled with his gun and dropped his cigarette.

“Peace, my man,”  the laugh Kili let loose was too much, too bright and too manic.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you can’t just- you need to-,” the junkie swallowed hard, “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Why would there be any trouble?” Kili clapped the man on the shoulder, a quick point of the chin at Fili. With an annoyed grimace, Fili disarmed the man. It was laughably easy.  “There. Now we’re all friends. We’re here to see Finch.”

“Finch isn’t expecting visitors,” the man looked longingly at his gun, letting out a soft whimper as Fili tossed it casually away. “Not supposed to let anyone.”

“Good thing we’re not anyone then. Tell you what. Go inside and tell that bootlicker that Thorin’s boys need to talk to him,” Kili pushed the man toward the open door. “Go on then.” 

The junkie disappered inside, leaving Fili glaring at Kili.

“What? I didn’t hurt him.”

Nevermind, it was hardly worth the effort of explaining.

They didn’t have to wait long. A meaty hand through open the door and a mountain of a man grinned jaggedly at them,

“Might as well come in then.”

They warehouse hadn’t been fixed up like one of Thorin’s places. It was mostly empty and had an inexplicable chill that leached into the bone.  Two long tables sat under spotlights, displaying the hamfisted work of lesser scrapers. No synthetics here, just televisions, stereos and car parts. Easily bought and sold in the shady parts of the city.

“So Thorin doesn’t come himself,” Finch stepped into the light, a move clearly designed to intimidate. Instead, it just made Fili want to roll his eyes. Every two bit criminal in town though they were some Hollywood style mastermind. “I’m insulted.”

“He’s busy,” Kili held out a hand and Fili put the package into it, counting the mercenaries waiting in the dark. Five at least.  “But I’ve brought you a present.”

“That what I think it is?”

“Gesture of goodwill,” Kili tossed it up in the air, watched Finch scramble to catch it with an amused tilt to his eyebrows. “It’s eighty percent pure. Better than most on the market.”

“Sell that at a profit,” Finch mumbled, caressing the paper proprietary. It would all wind up in his veins and not on the street, but that wasn’t their problem.

“Thorin wants to know if you’re in.” 

“In?” Finch snorted. “Yes, let me give up my hard earned money and the lives of my crew for some crazy suicide mission that has nothing to do with me. Sounds great.”

“You owe Thorin your life,” Kili growled, “not to mention this pathetic operation that you call a business.”

“And I pay him regular back for it, just like he asked.  He’s a gang leader, not a king, you mecho-brat. I don’t owe him anything more than his racket money every month,” Finch gripped the package tighter. “Boys, see the Durins to the door.

The mountain man put his hand on Fili’s shoulder. The twitch was pure instinct.  Two taser shots worth of electricity flung outward, burning through the man’s nervous system and crashing him to his knees. 

“I thought we weren’t going in hot,” Kili mocked, dropping into a ready position as the other four closed in.

_Busy._

The next two came in together, charging Fili with murder in their eyes. An easy flick of his wrists and twin blades jutted out from under his false skin, he filleted them in seconds, whirling on the third man before the knives were clean out of their flesh.   

“What the fuck are you?” The goon sneered, dodging the first of Fili’s testing blows.

He whirled out a kick, all the power of a titanium enforced knee and bone crashing into the goon’s midsection. The blow to the head while the goon was doubled over, he pulled enough to just knock him out. 

“Turn around nice and slow,” Finch demanded and Fili knew what he’d see before he moved. Sure enough, Finch had an oversized gun in his hands, the muzzle pointed right at Kili’s forehead. “Now then. I want you to leave. Go back to your uncle and tell him that I’m all done being terrorized by him and his kind. Tell him I want a clean break and I’ll be keeping this dog as collateral.”

“That is a spectacularly bad plan,” Kili said mildly. “On a number of levels.”  

“Don’t think anyone was asking you,” Finch took a step forward. The potential bullet was inches from Kili’s skull. 

“Pull the trigger,”  the taunt scalded over Fili’s skin. He watched in horror as Kili took a step forward, the gun smacking into his forehead. “Go ahead, Finchy. Put me down.”

Before Fili could react, the butt of the gun came down across Kili’s face. Apparently that was what Kili had been waiting for, turning his head to take the brunt of the blow on the false curve of his cheek. With ease, he grabbed Finch’s wrist and squeezed hard enough that Fili heard bones crack. The gun clattered uselessly to the floor. 

“I’ll let Thorin know that you have other obligations,” a hard kick sent Finch rolling over the pavement, curling up against further blows.

_Let’s go_ , Fili retraced his blades.

“Yeah,” Kili turned his back on the whole scene, any trace of merriment long ago wiped clean.

The junkie approached them as they tried to leave. Fili took him down with a hard right hook, now in no mood to be kind.  The car doors slammed shut behind them both, twin cracks of anger and smothered violence. Kili started the car, peeling out into the street and leaving the scene in their rearview mirror as quickly as possible.

“Think you might’ve killed those guys.”

_Might’ve._ He folded his hands close to his body, hiding the rapidly drying blood. 

“Why? Could’ve just given them a beat down.”

_That wasn’t the message._

“I was standing right next to you when Thorin gave us the damn message!” Kili’s hand slammed down on the wheel, the car swearing a little out of lane. “He didn’t say kill anyone!” 

_Not to you._ Never to Kili. No that clever little hand signal was for Fili. An unavoidable order. The passing of judgement as sure as an emperor’s downturned thumb. _Don’t worry about it._   

“Right. I’ll just forget it,” traffic parted as if the other driver’s could sense Kili’s cold fury from lanes away. “I’ll file it under ‘Not Important’.”

_This is what we do. What I do. Little late to be complaining about it now._

“It’s never too late. We could...we could go. Any day, Fili. We could leave.”

_And do what?_  He wished he could convey his sheer scorn at the idea through his leaning text.

“Be bouncers at a posh club or decorate cakes or some such shit! Why does it matter? We’ve got assets to sell that would keep us afloat for awhile. Buy a few mods, change our apperaences. Go to ground.”

_Could you really leave him? Let him go to Erebor with only the gang at his back and not a lick of family?_

“I could,” Kili insisted, but Fili could see him deflating, the tense line of his shoulders collapsing. “If it would help you, I would.”

_Was that what you were doing back_ there? He asked so he didn't have to face the pain in Kili's voice or the worn down nub of old hopes. _Daring Finch to kill you? Was that helping me?_

“He would never have done it. Just got me close enough to disarm.”

_I would’ve gotten him.  You didn’t have to risk yourself._

“What's life without a little risk?” Kili shifted gears, the city blurring away outside. 

The aching division between them held until they reached headquarters. As the elevator plummeted downward, they shifted closer together. Not close enough to touch, never that, not anymore, but close enough that Fili could see the scratch on Kili’s neck where he’d nicked himself shaving.

Unlike Finch’s textbook hideout, Thorin’s place looked more like a pleasent kitchen and dining room. All the dirty work took place far from here, scattered around the city and held by shell companies. Nothing traced back here. Nothing led back to the man at the head of the long table, all dark hair and battered leather. Paperwork spread around him and there was a constant hum of activity. The inner circle spent much of their days here, making phone calls and keeping tabs.

“Hello, boys,” Thorin glanced up at them, gesturing them into chairs at his side. Kili slid into one and Fili stood behind him. “Finch?”

“Definite no,” the shrug looked casual on Kili. A young man, heedless of the weight of his words. It’s the role that Fili liked the least because sometimes he thought it was often the truest. “How about the Ironfoot?”

“He refused,” Thorin set down his pen, a frown etched deep in his face. “We’re alone.”

“That’s alright,” Balin set down a glass of beer in front of Kili, handed Fili another. “Easier to organize a small group. And we’ve got the wizard now.”

“I’m only an advisor,” Gandalf sat at the other end of the table, pipe settled between his lips. He surveyed Fili, doubtless reading the whole gory scene with a passing glance.   

“We can do with all the advice we can get,”  Thorin tapped one of the many maps before him. “Especially with the new intel. There’ll be no going in the front, even if we had the force to handle it. Erebor is a fortress, designed for protection.”

“Erebor has its weaknesses,” Gandalf leaned forward, eyes still on Fili. “I’m interested in this bit of a thing that you stole.”

“What? The drugs?” Kili took a drink, wiping the foam from his upper lip with the back of his hand. “Nothing to it.”

“The DRN-BLB.  A curious unit. I studied the specs and found some profound irregularities,” a circle of smoke departed Gandalf’s lips, hanging suspended in the air. “I’d very much like to speak with him.”

Fili’s hands locked closer together as he kept close tabs his breathing. He had become practiced at giving nothing away.

“Sure thing,” Kili said without missing a beat. “We can fetch him for you. Bofur has him doing some stuff around the chop shop.”

“I don’t see how a synthetic can help with this,” Thorin protested, but he was already half-distracted, looking over something Balin had brought him. 

“I think we could use the addition of an...unexpected party member,” Gandalf lifted his bushy eyebrows at Fili, something like a smile about his lips. “You never know what might come in handy.”

  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Contains descriptions of disfigurement.

Elsie’s mouth issued forth a stream of ancient rock and roll music that Bofur hummed along to as he worked. The walk to work had left his clothing slightly damp and put Bilbo’s nose into an annoyed scrunch. 

“It’s only water,” Bofur had laughed and given him a towel. 

“The damp is unpleasant,” Bilbo meticulously dried his curls which showed not a hint of frizz despite the humidity. “It makes my processors run slower.” 

“You and me both.” 

Tea manifested in a mysteriously clean cup at Bofur’s elbow a half hour later. He’d been taking sips of it ever since, the warmth spreading through his belly. Dimly, he was aware of Bilbo knocking around the space, probably resorting all of Bofur’s salvage bins as he’d been threatening to do for days. He couldn’t spare enough attention to check as he teased fine wiring back onto the proper pathways. 

“Incoming,” Elsie’s music stop dead as she issued the warning. 

With a sigh, Bofur set down his tools. It had been a nice morning. By the time he’d turned in his chair, Fili and Kili were already waiting for his attention. They looked more menacing than usual, streaks of blood painted over Fili’s knuckles and an ugly bruise blossoming where Kili’s faceplate left off. The synthetic eye looked wrong as well, something in the core flickering out a barely there pulse of light. 

“Would you like some tea?” Bilbo approached with a mild smile. 

“Tea?” Kili laughed, hoarse and raw. “No. I don’t think that’ll do me.” 

“I’ve got a bottle of whiskey tucked away,” Bofur offered. 

“Yeah, that’d be...yes,” the hard clench of Kili’s fingers relaxed slightly and his eye flickered again. 

“Want me to look at that thing?” The question spilled out before Bofur could think in through. “Only if it were mine and misfiring like that, it’d be driving me mad.” 

“It’s fine,” Kili shrugged, then froze momentarily before turning to face his brother. “Fucking fine I said.” 

Fili folded his arms over his chest and raised his chin defiantly. Kili shot him the finger and Fili threw up his hands, miming disgust. 

“Do you have any glasses for this?” Bilbo set the bottle of whiskey on the table. 

“I don’t need a glass,” grabbing up the bottle, Kili unscrewed the top and downed a hefty swallow. 

“Right,” Bilbo frowned. “That’s unsanitary.” 

“Probably,” Kili didn’t release his hold on the bottle’s neck. He pinned Bofur with a look, but the glare had lost some of its menace with the flickering in his eye making Bofur’s hands ache for his tools. “You know what you’re doing?” 

“It’s my job to know.” 

“It’s your job to know synthetics. This attaches to flesh, understand?” Kili tapped the metal and the flickering in his eye intensified. It had to be sending all kinds of false signals and damage alerts. 

“I’m aware. I’ll be careful,” he was already fishing for the right tools and turning on his sterilizer. “Want to keep it on or detach it while I work with it?” 

“How can you work on it if it’s still attached?” 

“With difficulty, but it isn’t impossible.” 

“I didn’t know that,” there was something hollow in Kili’s voice as he set down the whiskey bottle. 

“Ah, well,” Bofur coughed, covering his surprise. Someone with extensive work like that should’ve been familiar with both techniques. What hack were they giving their limbs over to? “I suppose some techs can’t manage it or it’s too long or too delicate a job to ask you to sit still for.” 

Kili hesitated, but eventually his hands rose up to his face and began the process of removing the plate. Busying himself with his tools, Bofur tried to give the boy some privacy. Bilbo hovered uncertainly at Bofur’s side, eyes averted. 

“Here,” a metal plate appeared in Bofur’s peripheral vision. It shook slightly, a vibration that Bofur first assumed was some quirk of the tech. It was only when he took the skin warmed piece that he could see it was Kili’s hands that shook. 

It would be nice to say that Bofur resisted and didn’t look. That he had willpower to overcome that all too human instinct would have been a point of pride. Instead, he glanced up from under his eyelashes and the horror there imprinted straight through his eyes to sear into his brain. Had he been asked only an hour previously, he would have guessed that Kili was a joy modder and that underneath that plate was unmarred skin with mild scarring around the open socket, smooth with electronic feeds. 

He would’ve been wrong. 

The utter ruination was difficult to take in with just a quick look. The scars had the peculiar undulating shine of a severe burn. The arch of Kili’s brow was a mottled white where some graft must’ve been partially rejected and tried again. The socket was a mess of tissue, an angry red where the false eye must rub at the skin. Bare tipped wires and circuitry gleamed around the edges, some of them nicked or scratched where the plate had been forced back in without accuracy. 

The worst of it though was Kili’s natural eye, so close and yet so far from the damage. Bofur had never dared to look at the boys straight on, so he'd missed the warm brown iris. It stood in such stark contrast that Bofur had to look away from it. It was an all too human eye, one that must search in the mirror for its lost twin. 

“Right,” Bofur coughed, “finish off my whiskey if you like and I’ll take a look at this.” 

Fixing the eye was relatively anticlimactic after that. The glitch responded well to a quick diagnostic and wire tweaking. It was a relatively simple biometric, hardly capable of the thousand and one things Bilbo’s eyes could manage. Taking a few liberties, he smoothed down a few rough patches where he’d noticed the irritation on Kili’s skin. 

“There’s a software patch available,” Bofur clicked through the options, “could add on a few bells and whistles for you.” 

“No,” Kili said without a pause. “It’s fine as it is.” 

“Right then,” resealing the casing took nearly as long as the repair. By the time he was done, he found that Kili worked halfway through the whiskey bottle and Fili standing a bare hair’s breadth away from his brother. The fraction of space between them buzzed uncomfortably with tension. “Should be right as rain now.” 

Kili reached out unsteadily for it. 

“If you don’t mind, maybe I could?” Bofur cleared his throat, glancing nervously to Fili who appeared to be attempting dissection via fierce eye contact. “Only, you’ve got some minor damage to the joins already from where it’s been forced.” 

“I know how to handle my own face,” Kili snapped, but after a hard pause his hand fell away. “Just...get on with it.” 

Taking care with fragile things was a point of pride for Bofur. He knew how to take measure of where the joins should meet and added a bit of oil to them before sliding them carefully home. Kili’s skin was warm under his fingertips, both scarred and unscarred alike. Every time Bofur touched him, there was a minute twitch as Kili fought off his instincts. He might be a soldier, but perhaps he was still a boy too under all that. A boy far more used to pain than tenderness. 

“There now,” Bofur dropped his hands to Kili’s shoulders, squeezing once in reassurance before stepping away. “How’s that?” 

“Better,” Kili slowly blinked his natural eye, the bionic making a nearly inaudible whirring noise as it shifted to compensate. “Thanks.” 

“You can thank me by refilling my whiskey,” Bofur lifted the bottle and took his own swallow, ignoring Bilbo’s gagging noise. “Now, I’m guessing you didn’t come down here for a bit of repair work.” 

“We’ve got business, “ Kili agreed. His legs had parted on the stool, and his elbows rested on the table. The whiskey had rung the red alert from his body language and left him loose limbed. “Gandalf wants to talk to Bilbo.” 

“Who’s Gandalf?” Bilbo asked. 

“A wizard,” Kili shrugged. “Our wizard for now.” 

“A wizard is a fictional distinction,” Bilbo said primly. “Magic-” 

“Not like a wizard wizard,” Bofur corrected. “Its a bit of convenient slang. Means a person with access to advanced tech that the rest of poor bastards can only dream about.” 

“Rumor says they get some of it from those high rise freaks,” Kili attempted to reach for the whiskey again, but Fili pushed it out of his reach. “Mother hen.” 

“High rise?” Bilbo turned to Bofur for an explanation. 

“You’ve probably came across them in your data crawls. It’s actually a series of tech corporations, loosely affiliated-” 

“Monopoly,” Kili cut in. “We know they all work together.” 

“We do not,” Bofur said mildly, “Anyway, there’s a certain...likeness among the upper echelon of the companies. Some of have speculated that the public faces are actually a new breed of high level synthetics. So good that no one can tell they aren’t human.” 

“I can fucking tell,” the whiskey evaded Kili’s grip again. “Cold blooded bastards. Sitting in their luxury penthouses while the rest of the world burns.” 

“Point is that they do seem to have some goods they aren’t sharing just yet. Except with some wizard types,” Bofur told Bilbo. “And apparently one of those wizard types wants a word with you.” 

“Soon. Very soon. Supposed to take you back this afternoon, but I don’t think I should drive,” the solemn declaration forced Bofur to smother a laugh. 

“I can take him, lad. If you can’t make it home, there’s a cot you can use,” Bofur looked to Fili, “if that’s alright? I can only sleep the one, but you’re welcome to stay.” 

Fili looked down at Kili then back at Bofur with a sharp nod of agreement. Somehow without touching him once, Fili bullied Kili towards the cot and got him safely ensconced, then returned for a chair that he set up beside the rickety bed. 

“Right, guess we couldn’t ask for a better guard while we were out,” Bofur plucked up his hat. “We’re off to headquarters.” 

“You’re nervous,” Bilbo stated, following Bofur’s lead outward. 

“Remember when I said that picture was college friends?” 

“You were lying. I thought it would be prudent to let you keep your secrets.” 

“Uh...thanks, I suppose. Look, the work I do isn’t technically on the up and up, but it’s not...well. It’s a small piece of a much larger operation. My brother Bifur started working for Thorin years ago, just after the gang lost it’s main base of operations.” 

“Gang?” Bilbo’s eyes widened. 

“Gang,” Bofur hailed a taxi. “There’s probably a nicer term for it, but why bother sugar coating it? Tech creation is the primary business. My work is...secondary. Providing parts and schematics. Any models I rehabilitate generally get put back into the market, money to feed into development. There’s not much interest in synthetics, really. More of a weapons trade as far as I know.” 

“Weapons?” Bilbo’s voice squeaked. 

The taxi pulled up and Bofur had to all but pull Bilbo in besides him. 

“Don’t worry about that. What you should know is that Himself has been working on a scheme to get back the base for about twenty years. It got taken by a rival, this beast of corporation calls itself W.Y.R.M. Thorin grew up at that base and most of the gang’s stockpile is there too,” Bofur programmed the address into the Taxi’s computer, then swiped his bitcoin pin. “If he’s gotten a wizard involved, then he must be ready to make the final push.” 

“How did you get involved in all this? Did your brother bring you in?” Bilbo demanded. 

“Yeah, he did, but I guess you could say it was sort of destined to come about. My parents were a part of the gang before Thorin was a twinkle in his father’s eye. It’s an old organization, used to be impressive, but we’re few now and scattered.” 

“It doesn’t make sense. You’re not that kind of person.” 

“What kind?” Bofur settled back into the cheap vinyl seats. 

“The violent kind. The criminal kind. You built teddy bears and baby young thugs.” 

“I wasn’t babying him!” 

“You did a little,” Bilbo shook his head. “You’re not a gang member.” 

“Just not the kind you read about. You think every crime family is all godfathers and assassins? Someone needs to do the books, answer the phone and vacuum the rugs.” 

“The blood on Fili’s hands stains your skin as well.” 

“Poetic of you,” Bofur exhaled slowly. “Are you standing in judgement of me now?” 

“I...no. I apologize,” Bilbo looked out the window. 

“You’re probably right for what its worth, but these men...they saw me grow up, made sure I got a good education and had a job when I needed it. They’re killers and thieves, but they’re my killers and thieves.” 

“Does that ease your guilt?” Bilbo asked. 

“Not a lick.” 

They traveled the rest of the way in silence. Bilbo took in the headquarters with a moue of distaste. The long table was bustling, plates of food handed in every which direction. Balin clapped Bofur on the back as soon as he saw him, passing him onto Dwalin for a headbutt and so on down the line until Bofur found himself standing beside Thorin. 

“You’ve been away too long,” Thorin held out his hand and shook with far too much force. 

“This is Bilbo,” Bofur tugged Bilbo forward. “Kili said you wanted me to introduce him.” 

“Yes,” a tall gentlemen folded into a rumble grey suit extended a hand to Bilbo. “A pleasure to meet you, Bilbo. I’m Gandalf.” 

“They tell me you’re a wizard,” Bilbo’s hand disappeared inside Gandalf’s wide grasp. 

“It’s a fitting enough name,” Gandalf smiled, “It’s a pleasure. This, Thorin, is most certainly our burglar.” 

“Excuse me! I am most certainly no such thing,” Bilbo protested. 

Bofur could have told him it was a lost cause. Through the course of a dizzying conversation, Gandalf and Thorin had even Bofur half-convinced that Bilbo had been made for theft. 

“I’m not doing it,” Bilbo announced as they stood back out on the sidewalk. “I’m not built for that kind of thing. I’m meant to stay about the house and be helpful.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Bofur couldn’t help himself, “after all, the model you’re based on was a police unit.” 

“It’s ridiculous! Your whole...gang! Ridiculous,” Bilbo muttered darkly. Dinner that night was a somber affair with Bilbo plugging himself in before Bofur could offer up any potential consolation. The delicious meal wasn’t nearly as good without Bilbo’s conversation to go with. 

In the morning, Bilbo woke him with a hot bowl of oatmeal. 

“You know,” Bilbo tapped the side of the bowl as he put it into Bofur’s hand, “maybe I could do with a very small adventure.” 

“Sounds like you might have do with it soon at that. Let’s get the shop closed up today.” 

The shop floor was quiet, emptied of hungover guests. In their place was a stately, full bottle of whiskey. Attached was a post-it note written in blue slanted letters, 

_Thanks for taking care of him. See you on the road. -F_


	6. Chapter 6

The trunk of the car snapped up their luggage and closed with a heavy click. Kili ran his hand over the faintest of dents, the spot where three days ago there had been a bullet hole. He had been careful in his erasure, wiping clean the evidence of violence, but it lingered anyway. 

“Perhaps I should just go back and check the locks again,” Bilbo was saying as he got into the car. Bofur laughed and said something low as he climbed in behind him. 

What had once been a distant dream, seemed an all too present nightmare now. This rattle trap caravan headed out into the wilds of the suburbs and then a day’s trek in wilderness until they reached the secured facility that had once been Erebor. All his life, Kili had known they would go on this journey and there had been a time when he would have undertaken it with a song on his lips and joy in his heart. 

Fili stared at him where he stood at the passenger door. Kili met his gaze and could have held it for ages. In this, at least, they were still united. Reluctant soldiers in a diminished army against an unstoppable enemy. 

“Ready?” Oin called down the line of cars. 

It was Fili who looked away, glancing down the line of ramshackle vehicles with worry tight at the edges of his lips. 

“Ready,” Kili called back. 

The car already smelled of a road trip, the salt of corn chips and tang of too many bodies in too small a space. Bofur had settled crosslegged on the back seat, Bilbo a tight knot of worry beside him. 

The engine started with a rattle and the seatbelt clicked in with a soft whirr. 

“Which way?” He glanced at Fili, then back at the road. 

_Head toward the third star and then straight on until morning._

“You’re fucking hilarious.” 

The first hour was uncomfortably tense, Fili staring out the window and Bofur’s fingers tapping out a rhythm against vinyl that crawled over Kili’s spine. Eventually, he turned on the radio in sheer self-defense and aggressively hummed along to whatever tripped through the speakers. 

Outside, the skyscrapers gave way to warehouses. Fields of squat buildings filled begging to be filled with trouble and vice. They passed by the spot where he and Fili had ducked through a manhole and discovered the broken body now sitting bright-eyed in the back seat. Kili glanced in the rearview mirror, the revelation on the tip of his tongue. 

He catches sight of something odd, just a flicker. All the docile programming and gentle humor in Bilbo’s carefully fashioned face dropped away. For a breath length, he looked as hard as stone and ruthless as Fili in battle. The words died in Kili’s mouth and he swallowed them down. 

Eventually even the warehouses thinned and the world turned a starling green. Kili rolled down the window and the first wisps of fresh air crept in. It scalded over his sensors, told him a new story of pollen counts and UV Index. He propped his elbow on the edge and trailed his fingers through the air. 

“When was the last time you left the city?” Bofur asked. 

“Four years ago. Maybe more,” Kili stared out over the peaked roofs of the suburbs. “What about you?” 

“A few months ago. I try to make a habit of it. You can forget there’s a rest of the world if you don’t.” 

“Never thought the rest of the world mattered all that much.” 

“Why not?” It was Bilbo that asked, all pleasant softness again. 

“Got enough to worry about at home, why should I go borrowing someone else’s?” 

“I was built to live somewhere like this,” Bilbo leaned closer to his window. “Somewhere pleasant and green. I imagine it would be a quiet sort of life. I suppose that’s not a draw for some though.”

“Yeah,” there was a school on their left, children bubbling out and he can catch the sound of their chatter before it whips away. “I prefer action.” 

He could feel Fili’s gaze heavy on him, but he didn’t turn to face whatever might be hidden there. Maybe they could make it out of this with minimal damage. Maybe they could sit down in the halls of their ancestors and speak for once. Really talk about all those unsaid things. 

The growl of a motorcycle cut his thoughts in two. 

“Fuck,” Bofur swore, craning around. “How the hell?” 

“Who?” Kili tightened his grip on the steering wheel. 

“Not sure. Bilbo, can you make out their colors?” 

“Colors?” Bilbo turned slowly, knees digging into the creaking seat. “Blue...and white?” 

_Give me the wheel._ Fili flashed urgently. 

“It’s yours,” Kili released his tightened hold, fishing his gun out of the cup holder and taking off the safety. In one quick maneuver, he launched himself into the passenger seat while Fili slid into the driver’s place. The car barely had time to drift out of lane before Fili was jerking it back. 

Sliding the window down, Kili assessed the situation. Twenty bikes at least, each with a bruiser of a rider and probably forty guns between them. The party was definitely outnumbered. The radio crackled to life, Thorin barking orders that Fili would have to follow. Kili couldn’t waste time listening. 

The lead biker made one quick motion, a signal for execution. Kili grinned at him as he leaned out the window and took aim. 

“What are you doing?” Bilbo ducked down, eyes wide. “They haven’t done anything to us.” 

“They’re Orcs. They’ve had it out for us and Thorin in particular for years,” Bofur fished around in his bag and produced a serviceable looking gun that Kili had never seen before. “Most of the time, we’re dug in too deep for them to get a crack at us, but out here in the open? We’re on their territory now.” 

“Maybe, but they aren’t going to touch us,” Kili licked his lips and closed his right eye. He fired. 

The next five minutes were a blur of gunpowder and wind. Kili only ducked fully back inside the car to reload. Fili kept the car steady with steely determination, even as the others in the caravan spun out. 

“Little help here!” Ori’s voice shrilled over the radio. 

Fili executed a tight one eighty, leaving Kili clinging to the door for dear life. A bullet grazed over head. He swore and fired back, watching in satisfaction as the assailant's bike spun out. Ori’s car was half over-turned and he and Dori were using it as a makeshift fortress. 

“Hey,” Ori attempted to be casual as Kili joined them in a neat tuck and roll. 

“Hey,” Kili nudged him with an elbow. “Don’t look so worried. You’d think we were actually in trouble way you carry on.” 

“Imagine that,” Ori grimaced. Kili got off a few shots, counting bullets.

_They got the tires. We’re joining you._ He made out the golden blur of Fili, blades extended and sparks raining down around him. 

The entire party was soon flat footed and exposed. The bikers pulled to shoulder, an army of menace. 

“This way!” Gandalf called out, waving around a long flashlight that looked like it could double as a club. 

“He’s kidding right?” Kili hissed. “He wants us to get away on foot?” 

_No other options._ Fili reached Kili’s side, a smear of blood over one eye. Bilbo and Bofur not far behind, Bofur's device . _Aren’t you glad about all that training now?_

“Running at ass o’clock in the morning is still sadistic, jerk.” 

_You’ll thank me soon enough._

The neighborhood was a pleasant one, full of cookie cutter houses and startled pedestrians, watching the mob run by with fear writ plain on their faces. Police sirens sounded in the distance, mixing with the jaunts of the bikers. Some of them must have remounted, their engines heaving to life. Gandalf’s path took short cuts through backyards and tight alleyways, taking full advantage of their greater mobility, yet the engines only grew closer. 

“Fi-” Kili panted. There was only one deathbed confession worth making. 

_Just run, idiot._

“Just in case though.” 

_Tell me later._

And wasn’t that just Fili all over? 

“Here!” A storm cellar door flung open and Kili watched them all tumble down in the darknesss. He stood his ground, covering their vulnerable backs until Thorin himself tugged him into down. 

“Foolish boy,” Thorin threw his arm over Kili’s shoulder for the briefest moment. “Well done.” 

“This way,” Gandalf turned on his flashlight, the flare of brightness startling. “These tunnels are old smuggler byways.” 

“And where do they lead?” Thorin marched back to the front of the line. 

“All right there, lad?” Bofur asked quietly. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He brushed his hair back over his shoulders and slotted his gun into his thigh holster. 

“Of course,” Bofur coughed. “Stupid question.” 

“Fili?” He called out. 

_Just ahead of you._

For an aching moment, all Kili wanted to do was reach out and be assured of it. The solid shape of Fili’s shoulders would slot perfectly into his palms. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to do something like that so casually without fear of burnt fingers. 

“He killed two of them at least,” Bilbo supplied, a fractured whisper in the dark. “He has blades in his arms.” 

“Yeah, I had noticed that.” 

“Why?” 

“Why what?” Kili stumbled over the uneven ground, caught himself on the wall with a muffled swear. 

“Why would someone become a weapon?” 

“Did you not just see the pack of thugs trying to gut us alive?” 

“I saw,” a pattern of blue light flickered in the darkness, betraying Bilbo’s proximity, “but I also saw you use a gun to repel them. Every inch of his flesh is dangerous, isn’t it? He’s a walking armory. It's overkill.” 

“None of our business,” Bofur cut in. “You both saved our lives. Thanks for that.” 

“It’s nothing. I would’ve done it even if you hadn’t been there.” 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be grateful.” 

_Say you’re welcome._ Fili prodded. 

“Eavesdropping?” He accused. 

“And then there’s that,” Bilbo muttered.

“There’s what?” Kili snapped. 

“Your either very disturbing schizophrenia or his scientifically improbable ability to communicate via implants. That would require some fairly major internal alterations.” 

“It’s just sub-vocalizing turned to text and transmitted,” Kili lied. “Anyone can do it with some practice.” 

“I see,” Bilbo said with an edge of doubt. 

_I think he does see._

_How?_ Kili shot back. He preferred to talk if Fili was so close, but he felt weirdly exposed now. _He’s just being a nosy bastard._

_He’s perceptive._

“He’s welcome to talk to me then,” Bilbo said. 

“What?” Kili wished for some light, wished for the cues of expression. 

“I can receive text the same way you do. I imagine it must be lonely to only be able to communicate with one person.” 

“He talks to other people. Over the net mostly.” Which had been true, but Kili realized he wasn’t sure if it still was. Clearly, Fili was still emailing Ori sometimes. When was the last time Fili had mentioned some Net friend though? Kili couldn’t recall. 

_Thank you, Bilbo._ Fili sent. 

“You’re welcome,” Bilbo said pleasantly. 

“I’m missing something,” Bofur determined. 

“Me too,” Kili ran his fingers over the tunnel wall. “Me too.” 

The tunnel started to slope upward and soon they were pushing out into twilight. Instead of the suburban sprawl Kili had been expecting, they emerged into a fragrant garden. A lilac bush nodded over his head, spilling floral delicacy into his nose. 

“What the ever loving fuck?” He turned a slow circle, taking in the rise of a stately house before them. 

“The last homely house,” Gandalf threw his arms wide. “We will be welcome here for the night at least.” 

“And who would our hosts be?” Thorin demanded. 

“That would be me.” 

The man who came through the wide doors was slender and tall. Kili’s hand dropped to his gun. He knew the sheen of that skin, the faint pale glow that clung to the tips of long fingers. 

“Have you lost your mind?” Thorin snarled at Gandalf. 

“I know that you need every ally you can get.” 

“That’s strange,” Bilbo tilted his head, lights flashing in wild patterns. “He’s not a synthetic. But he’s not human either.” 

“Genetically tweaked is the best theory,” Bofur supplied, shifting his weight so he stood slightly in front of Bilbo. 

“High rise bastards,” Kili hissed. 

“I prefer Elrond,” the man didn’t smile, turning his back on the assembled crowd. “Come. Eat. Sleep. And for God’s sake, wash.” 

Kili and Fili were given a room, ushered there by another slender light soaked ass with his nose in the air as he shooed them inside. Two white-linened beds stood on thick carpet. 

“I hate this day,” Kili determined. 

_That makes two of us._ Fili poked cautiously into the bathroom. _This is bigger than our apartment._

“Of course it is,” Kili toed off his boots and slumped into a posh chair that proved too tall for him, his toes trailing childlike above the floor. “You going to explain your sudden chattiness?” 

_He asked nicely. I think this is a bidet._

“So that’s all it takes? A few kind words from a synthetic and you’re all opened up?” 

_Why? Jealous?_

The question burned into Kili’s eye long after the letters had faded away. He buried his face in his hands. When he looked up again Fili stood directly in front of him, still and silent. 

“That was cruel even for you,” he swallowed hard. 

_I’m sorry._

“Are you?” It came out bitter and rough. “Sometimes I can’t even breathe around you. You just...make all this silence between us and it’s choking me. But apparently it’s just fine to natter to on to a goddamn synthetic you met ten minutes ago.” 

_I’m twenty-five. You’re twenty-three._

“Uh, yeah, thanks for that startling insight.” 

_Do you know what most people are age are doing? Partying. Finding jobs. Figuring out who they are. Instead, I’m a knife and you’re a gun._

“I’m not just a weapon, neither are you,” Kili’s head started to throb. “We’re people. Living, breathing people.” 

_Are we?_ Fili flexed his synthetic hands, staring at the tips of metallic fingers. 

“Yes, fuck, of course we are. You are. You’re as human as anyone I’ve ever met. Bleeding heart under all that metal.” 

Fili put his hands on the arms of the chair, bracketing Kili without touching him. 

_I’m always sorry when I’ve hurt you. I talked to Bilbo because his offer was kind. I don’t think we can afford to refuse kindness anymore._

“I don’t want to do this,” the admission spilled from Kili all at once. “I don’t give two shits about Erebor any more. Haven’t we lost enough?” 

_Kili._ Fili’s breath hitched. 

“I know, I know. We’ve got to help Thorin. We owe him. It’s our inheritance, but I’m so tired, Fi. We’ve only started and we’re already at each other’s throats. What will we be by the end of it?” 

_Heirs of a vast fortune?_

“Or dead. Dead is looking pretty likely.” 

_No matter what, it’s you and me. You can’t ever doubt that. Nothing you do or I say can stop it._

“Then why wouldn’t you let me tell you what I wanted to tell you?” 

_I have no idea what you wanted to tell me. I just wanted you not to catch a bullet because you were busy being melodramatic._

“Oh, come on. You must know.” 

Fili stared blankly down at him. 

“Fuck. I always thought you were the smart one. Don’t tell me I have to be the smart one and the pretty one, I’m really not sure I can stand it.” 

_What?_ Fili blinked. 

Someone knocked on the door. 

“Go away!” Kili shouted. 

“It’s a bit urgent,” Bofur called back. 

“Fuck me,” Kili got up, Fili jumping out of the way. “We’re not done here.” 

_Apparently we are for now._

Kili opened the door cautiously. Bofur stood on the other side, holding a limp Bilbo in his arms. 

“I’m hoping you lads still have your repair kits,” Bofur plowed into the room, setting Bilbo gently down on one of the beds. “Only, mine is still in the car. Not much use right now and I’ve got a bit of delicate work to do.”


	7. Chapter 7

Bilbo opened his eyes to a strange new world. Again. It was getting rather tedious, all this fading in and out. 

“Hello!” Bofur was looming over him, a thin screwdriver clenched in one hand. “How are you feeling?” 

“Fine,” he sat up and nearly fell back over. “What happened?” 

“Good question,” Bofur put a steadying hand to shoulder. “I think you might’ve gotten knocked around more than we suspected in the fight. You were in the middle of a sentence with that Elrond fellow, he touched your head and you collapsed like a house of cards. Noticed you had a bit of damage at your temple when I scraped you off the floor.” 

“Elrond,” Bilbo closed his eyes, summoning the information he’d gleaned. The odd organic, yet wholly non-human composition of him. “Yes. He was saying something interesting. Something about boats.” 

“Boats?” Kili stepped into visual range. He was still filthy and his eyes were a little bloodshot. 

“I asked him. About my wooden boat. Now why would I do that?” Bilbo frowned. 

“I think he’s still a bit broken,” Kili said dryly. 

“He’s fine. Let’s see you wake up from a hard reboot and put everything together right away.” Bofur touched Bilbo’s forehead softly. “Go easy for a bit. It’ll come.” 

“You should shower,” Bilbo rubbed his fingers together, calibrating his sensors. 

“Is that a personal comment?” Bofur grinned. 

“There were several questionable compounds in that tunnel. I wouldn’t trust them on skin.” 

_Go on then. I’ll stand watch._ The letters of Fili’s code were light blue and tilted. They were rather pretty, almost delicate. Bilbo watched them scroll by, unsure if he was meant to see the exchange at all. 

“Sure?” Kili asked, but he was already kicking off his boots. 

_Bilbo’s right. We should wash._

“You should do it now,” Bilbo took Bofur’s hand off his shoulder. 

“I don’t want to leave you until you’ve got your brains on straight,” Bofur frowned. 

“I’m hardly short circuiting. Fili will look after me for a few minutes.” 

“Will he?” Bofur knit his eyebrows close together. 

Fili stepped forward, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked formidable, a crumbling streak of blood over one eye and clothes thick with mud and dust. 

“Yes,” Bilbo determined. 

After another check over, Bofur reluctantly left with assurances that he'd return quickly. 

“Honestly, you’d think I was made of glass.” 

_You fell over talking to high riser. You might be._

“He just startled me,” Bilbo huffed. “I can’t quite...there’s a subroutine I have. It’s fragmented. It keeps trying to run, but it gets stuck. All I get is this image of a little wooden boat. I noticed the painting in the lobby of a boat like that. I asked him what it was meant to be. That’s all.” 

_Why’d he touch you then?_

“No idea. He’s hard to read.” 

Fili leaned against the door. He wasn’t easy to read either, but his frequent glances to bathroom door were simple enough to decipher. 

“You’re worried about him.” 

_Understatement._

“Why? Surely he’s in no more danger than the rest of us? Judging by his marksmanship, perhaps even less.” 

_It’s not his body that I worry over._ The thought might have been voiced prematurely as Fili visibly cringed after it was shared. _He’s been fragile for awhile._

“Fragile how?” 

_You’re really very nosy._

“Sorry, programmed for interrogation. Can’t be helped,” he said cheerfully. The tone often worked on Bofur, who drank in joy wherever he could find it. 

_Curiosity can’t be programmed._ Fili tilted his head slightly. _I’ve met a lot of synthetics. You’re very unusual._

“Synthetic Soul. If you prick me, do I not bleed?” 

_Actually no. You don’t._

“It’s Shakespeare. It’s set back when there was a lot of antisemitism and Jews were seen as less than human. The Jewish character, Shylock, challenges his accusers with it. His point was that Jews were just the same as Christians.” 

_You’re saying Synthetic Soul makes you human?_

“No, of course not,” he shrugged, “but it makes me more than an automaton too.” 

_Why ‘of course’?_

“I’m not laboring under any illusions. If you peel back my skin, you won’t find arteries or organs. I’m not human, just made in their image.” 

Fili uncrossed his arms and wiggled metal fingers at him. 

“That’s different,” Bilbo huffed. “You hardly came out of the womb like that. And it’s not the body that matters. It’s the mind.” 

_Pretty much my point too._

“My brain doesn’t work like yours.” 

_And mine doesn’t work like Kili’s. So what?_

“I can be unplugged.” 

_I can be killed._

“It’s just...I’m not a person. It’s dangerous for you to start assuming that I am.” 

The bathroom door opened, issuing out a cloud of steam and a pink skinned Kili. He had a towel wrapped around his waist. There were further burn scars on the same side of his body as his replacement eye. The damage was extensive, an uneven wave that crisscrossed over ribs and stomach. They disappeared under the towel. Bilbo’s systems in took the new information and provided new probabilities: the damage had occurred quickly, a massive wave of heat that dissipated fast, had been partially warded. The wound had occurred between six to ten years ago. There had been some surgeries to repair areas that couldn’t heal on their own, but much of it was untouched. 

“Shower’s all yours,” Kili drew on his shirt. 

_Thanks._ Fili waited until Kili was fully dressed before disappearing into the bathroom. 

Kili didn’t stand by the front door, but Bilbo felt no less guarded by Kili’s deceptively lazy sprawl at the edge of the comfortable bed. 

“Thank you for providing Bofur with your tools.” 

“No problem,” Kili bent one leg up, resting his chin on his knee. 

“You’ve got a good older brother.” 

“Yeah,” Kili’s lips twitched into something like a smile. “Guess I do.” 

“He doesn’t see much difference between himself and machines, does he?” 

Kili didn’t reply right away. He stared off into space, picking idly at a hole in his jeans. 

“I don’t think it’s that,” he said eventually, a little distant. “It’s more like...more like he’d rather be synthetic. Be of use and nothing more. It’d be easier. To just...not have to care.” 

“But I care,” Bilbo watched Kili carefully. 

“I know,” Kili blinked, coming back to himself and shooting Bilbo a rueful smile. “Guess we always want what we can’t have, huh?” 

“I want to know what I lost,” it felt a bit like confession and betrayal. They’d saved him after all, picked him out of the garbage and restored him. 

“Knowing doesn’t make the loss easier, trust me on that.” 

Bofur knocked not long after that, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Bilbo really had no idea how to reply. 

“Brought dinner with me,” Bofur pushed in a cart. “The others are gathered up making a ruckus in the dining room, but I figured we’d all be better off with a night of quiet.” 

“Thanks,” circling like a wolf, Kili eventually picked the lid off one tray and wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. Salad.” 

“It’s a vegetarian house if you can believe that shit,” Bofur scoffed. “But I got a bowl of nuts for protein and some fruit that looked decent enough. Should do us.” 

“Is there anything soft?” 

“Soup in this one. Barley, I think.” 

“Good,” Kili picked it out and poured some into a bowl, setting it on the desk. “I guess I’ll take the nuts first.” 

“Almonds. Salted at least,” Bofur passed them over, then headed to Bilbo’s side. “All right?” 

“Fine. Apparently I shouldn’t think too hard about boats.” 

“Gave me a scare.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Hardly your fault,” a smile cracked across Bofur’s lips as if it couldn’t quite manage to stay away. “Thorin wasn’t impressed by his swooning burglar.” 

“I’m not a thief anyway,” Bilbo shrugged. “He got what he didn’t pay for.” 

“He’ll pay out in the end. Everyone gets an equal share.” 

“What would I do with money?” 

“Dunno. Doesn’t matter. You’re entitled to it, even if you just use it as a chair.” 

Bilbo studied Bofur. He wondered if humans found Bofur attractive. Did they think him old or were his gray hairs distinguished? Did they like the honest set of his eyes or think his nose too large? Certainly his features deviated from beauty standards, but Bilbo found he liked them because of that. He liked too the careful way Bofur worked, at odds with his slapdash nature in other things. There was gentleness mixed with steel under ragged cloth. Bilbo couldn't quantify what he thought of Bofur, couldn't slap a neat label onto it that allowed him to prioritize properly. It was annoying. 

“Did you want some of this?” Bofur waggled a bit of lettuce at him. 

“No, thank you. It’d do you some good to eat it though.” 

“Might do, but then what would you have to nag me about? Wouldn’t want you to get bored.” 

“These aren’t awful,” Kili allowed, grinding down almonds between his teeth. “Wish we’d saved some of the beef jerky from the car though.” 

“You’re all as bad as each other,” Bilbo wrinkled his nose, “that stuff is awful for you.” 

“But it tastes amazing,” Kili winked at Bofur, who’s grin only widened. 

“Smoked or BBQ?” 

“BBQ,” Kili said firmly. “But I’ll eat any of it in a pinch.” 

_And my share too if you can get away with it._ Fili emerged from the bathroom, the ends of his hair still damp. He hadn’t waited to dry off to put his clothes back on. 

“There’s soup for you,” Kili picked up the bowl and offered it up. 

_Thanks._ Somehow, Fili managed to take it without touching Kili once. Bilbo had seen the charge that Fili kept ready and could only imagine what an accidental brush of fingers might do. 

As they ate, conversation ceased and left Bilbo to his own devices. He played the scene out in his head again. Elrond greeted him, the painting swam into focus, the subroutine had run and he’d asked...what had he asked? Then a delicate touch. Blank. Blank. Blank. That wall, that ever present nothing where there should be something. A tiny wooden boat, it fit in the palm of his hand. 

“If I wanted to become a rabbit, I would’ve stayed in my mother’s backyard,” Bofur stuck his fork back into the greenery. 

Kili laughed lightly, a curl of brown hair brushed back from his eyes with the movement. A brush of hair. A boat. A laugh. Bilbo’s processors fired, the subroutine ran and ran and ran 

and 

caught. The fragment of boat and hair and laughter and green grass. 

“Bag End,” he got to his feet and went to the door. He put his hands to it. “I have to... I must go back.” 

“Bilbo?” Bofur put a hand on his shoulder. 

“The boat. I think...I was meant to protect it. To protect my home and I left. Why did I leave?” 

“You didn’t go of your own free will.” 

“I don’t have free will!” Bilbo pounded his fist against the door, leaving a dent. “I have programming and I can’t fight it. You can’t erase it. I’m meant to be elsewhere. To be doing something. Something important.” 

“It’s gone. Whatever it was,” Kili was beside him now too, one hand on Bilbo’s bicep. “We looked, but Bag End is abandoned.” 

“Then I have to find what was lost.” 

“You don’t even know where to start,” Bofur said gently. 

“I start at Bag End. I was meant to start there. I did start there,” with a second smack, the wood splintered under his fingers. 

_So that’s where we go._

Bilbo rested his head against the door. Something...hope. It was hope rising in him. He didn't want to leave them behind, he realized. He could. He could run without tiring and tuck himself small in an airless space until they tired of looking for him. He could leave. But he didn't want to be alone. To do this alone. 

“We’re sort of in the middle of something,” Kili said tightly. “We can’t just go.” 

_Can’t we?_

“Of course we can,” Bofur tugged at Bilbo again and this time Bilbo let himself be moved. He was surprised to find himself folded into Bofur’s arms, but he didn’t feel like fighting. It was comfortable anyway, warm and the even beat of Bofur’s heart smoothed out the rattling in Bilbo’s processors. “I can, anyway. This was never...it was obligation. To Thorin. To my parents. But my parents are gone and my brothers will see to that anyway.” 

“Thorin though,” Kili looked lost. 

_I’ll take care of it._ Fili’s hands curled into loose fists. _We’ll rest tonight and I’ll speak to him in the morning. It’s only a detour._

“Fili says he’ll deal with Thorin,” Bilbo repeated for Bofur’s benefit. 

Bofur released Bilbo in stages, tucking him at his back before looking Fili over. 

“You stand to lose a lot.” Fili looked to Kili then back at Bofur. “Ah." 

"What?" Kili asked. 

"Priorities," Bofur nodded sharply. "I'll find a computer and pin down our route." 

“I’ll go with Fili. To talk to him,” said Kili. 

There wasn’t an argument. There didn’t need to be. It was Bilbo that kept watch while the humans slept. Bilbo who saw Fili rise and pull on his boots. 

_I’ll be back before he wakes. But if I’m not, keep him here._

Bilbo held the door open for him and closed it carefully again afterwards.


	8. Chapter 8

Fili saw more of himself in Thorin that he liked. Not just in their features, but in the coiled tension they carried with them. He heard himself in Thorin’s barked orders, found himself in the proud set of his jaw and the ruthlessness of his actions. They were two of a kind, uncle and nephew, bound by more than blood. 

They sat now at a spindly table, a map spread open before them, in silence tight enough to choke. Fili had thought this would be a battle, a war fought on old hurt and spiked with fury. Yet as the silence stretched on, he realized he was utterly wrong. There was no reason to pick up a weapon. 

This fight had ended long ago. It was his job to leave the battlefield behind.

“This is your future I’m fighting for,” Thorin said at last. Fili stared at him, blank as a slate. “If you run off now, you’ll lose it. Lose everything we’ve spent our lives working towards.” 

Fili traced a route, encircling the suburb of Hobbiton and then an arc up towards Erebor. It would be longer, by a few days, but nothing impossible. They could meet there. 

“And if you’re delayed?” Thorin pressed. “If your toy soldier turns out to just have a few cogs loose?” 

Fili consciously did not let his hands form into fists. He took a steadying breath. 

_This was not a request. It was a respectful acknowledgement. We’re going._

Fili had been told that his voice appeared blue and slanted across biometrics. He had no idea how it looked, how it might feel projected against the organic matter of mind and body. Thorin was the only one he’d ever attempted to it with and each time, it seemed to cause pain. A strike against a soft vulnerable space. 

“You belong here with me,” Thorin insisted through his winces. 

_I belong to Kili._ He rose troubled by his own phrasing and eager to leave. 

Someone knocked on the door, Fili opened it and slipped by Gandalf, who was speaking in urgent whispers. 

The whisper soft carpet hushed his return to their shared space. The heaving of Bofur and Kili’s breath was comforting. Bilbo sat by the door in the dark, his face a shimmer of blue. 

_I have something of yours that I should return._

_Yes._ Bilbo’s lettering was the green of cut grass and the faintest suggestion of a curl at the tips of the Y. He held out his hand expectantly. 

Fili opened the tiny storage compartment on his natural arm. No one thought to look for things on actual flesh. It had been a painful installation, but served him well many times. The chip was wafer thin and small. He dropped it into Bilbo’s palm. 

_It was badly fragmented even before Bofur removed it. I’m not sure it will help much._

Bilbo swallowed the chip, probably manually connecting it to some port with the tip of his tongue. The blue lights of his face jumped to life, dancing wildly under the skin. Then they went dark and quiet. 

_There are still too many gaps._ Bilbo grimaced. _But at least I know that I did what I was supposed to do._

_Which was?_

_Protect. I don’t know what it was I saved. But I did it._ Bilbo paused. _Or at least I believed I had._

They waited out the rest of the night, watched the dawn slant grey and sobering through the windows. Kili woke in a flurry, reaching for the metal curve of his face and slotting it too hastily into place. When they first got home for the hospital, they had had to do that together with the two good hands between them. It had been gentle then, but also grief-stricken. Now, Fili was almost glad of the rough practically that signaled Kili’s own acceptance of the ritual. 

_We can go._

“I told you I would come with you.” 

_He needed to hear it from me._ Fili shrugged. 

“He could have heard it with me at your side.” 

_You were there._

“I wasn’t!”

Fili smiled tightly. 

_You were. Trust me._

“What are we rattling on about?” Bofur woke with a groan. 

“We’re cleared for take off,” Kili pushed himself upward and into the bathroom. 

Thanks to their flight through the tunnels, they had little in the way of packing. They moved quietly through the hallways and exited the way they’d come in. It seemed all was clear until the elegant figure of their host stepped out from a shadow. 

“Your friends have already left us, it seems.” 

“Have they?” Bofur snorted. “Just figures, doesn’t it? Well, we’re taking a different route, you see.” 

“I do,” Elrond looked over their small party. “Events are ever changing, are they not?” 

“Uh, sure,” Kili flicked a look of amused confusion to Fili, who returned it twofold. 

“We located your vehicle and had it towed here. It seems road worthy if you’d like it back.” 

“My car?” Kili lit up. 

“Is that what it was?” Elrond frowned. “I thought it was a mobile tank.” 

“Tomato, tomatah,” Kili bounced. “Where is it?” 

The car idled in the driveway. Elrond’s people had done more than tow it. The body had been mended and the engine sounded better than before it had taken so much damage. Their supplies hadn’t been touched though they were jumbled. 

“Thank you,” Kili held out a hand to Elrond. “I owe you big time.” 

“No, master Durin,” Elrond shook lightly. “I beleive this time around, it was we who owed you.” 

“Right,” Kili knit his eyebrows together. “Okay.” 

“Good luck,” Elrond melted away just as easily as he’d appeared. 

“That was peculiar,” Bofur said dryly. 

“High risers,” Kili shrugged. “Mad creatures.” 

They climbed into the car, Kili snug behind the wheel. 

“We can take the highway,” Bilbo projected a map onto the back of the driver’s seat. 

They found it not far away, an entrance ramp lifting them from bucolic beauty back to the rush of too many cars going far too fast. Bofur leaned into Bilbo, studying the path. 

“Fili gave me back what you stole,” Bilbo commented, his voice flat. 

“Good,” Bofur didn’t back away from Bilbo’s space. “I was sorry to take it from you to begin with. Did it help?” 

“Why did you?” 

“Standard Operating Procedure. Every model that comes in. Otherwise, they might remember where they came from and try to get back there. Used to feel worse about it, but most of the ones that come in...well. You’ve seen the shape of them.” 

“You had no right,” Bilbo gritted out. “It’s a violation-” 

_You told me just yesterday that it was dangerous for me to think of you as human._ Fili cut in. 

“Well it would be,” Bilbo paused. “I don’t understand the relevance.”

_You should decide. If you’re only the sum of your metal parts then you have no rights. No reason to be angry with him. Decide, Bilbo. Are you human or not?_

Bilbo fell silent. 

“I’m sorry?” Bofur ventured. “Did I miss something?” 

“A seed being planted,” Kili glanced over at Fili, his expression blank. “What do you think will grow?” 

_No idea._ Fili closed his eyes, gave into the fatigue tugging at him. _But won’t it be something to see when it does?_


	9. Chapter 9

The journey to Bag End was surprisingly green and unsurprisingly silent. Bofur had been declared persona non grata by his backseat companion and those lovely boys of violence were hardly chatterboxes. Kili’s hands were lighter on the wheel this time around, but he didn’t switch on the radio. 

So Bofur watched the suburbs give way to green. An intense sort of green that looked faked. There were farmhouses studding the side of the road. There was livestock, some modified and some looking classic. He saw horses of at least fifteen different colors including a shocking purple that made him bark a laugh. Three sets of eyes were on him in a fraction of a second and he grinned madly at them. 

“Purple horse,” he explained with a shrug and then turned back to the window. You had to appreciate the little things. 

The road became uneven, giving way to older pavement and then to dirt. Bofur had secretly wondered if dirt roads were picturesque myths made up by Hollywood, but apparently they were as real as paved once and twice as unpleasant. They bumped their way up the last winding path with disapproving staring after them. 

“Where the fuck are we?” Kili mumbled, echoing Bofur’s thoughts. “Valley of the damned?” 

“It’s a farming community,” Bilbo put his hand to the window. “They’re not used to outsiders.” 

“That’s a tagline to a horror film,” Kili shuddered. 

In the rearview mirror, Fili’s eyes widen and he very nearly smiles. Bofur winks back at him. 

Bag End sat at the top of the hill, gazing benevolently down over the smaller homes. The gardens were beautiful, if a little wild. There was a sense of recent abandonment in the weeds starting to populate the driveway and the shuttered windows. Bilbo got out stiffly, staring blankly over the property. Then he was off like a shot towards the front door. 

“Careful!” Bofur called out, quick to follow. 

“It’s my home,” Bilbo knelt down, fingers running around the edges of the mat. “I know this place.” 

“Oh,” Bofur stilled. “What do you remember?” 

“Nothing. Not enough. Well,” Bilbo paused, pressed down on the stoop and a kaleidoscope of lights radiated outward. 

A lock disengaged with a series of thumps and the front door swung open. 

“Series 78,” Bofur looked over the device. “That’s some grade A security.” 

“Out here in the sticks?” Kili was just behind him. “Who would bother?” 

“A woman with something to hide, I suspect.” 

“Hello?” Bilbo was sticking his head inside. 

Fili said nothing as usual, but Bofur had come to recognize the slight squint of his eyes that indicated that silent communication. Bilbo and Kili didn’t respond this time around, but Bilbo dove into the house, so it must’ve been about it being safe or something along those lines. 

It was frustrating standing just outside of a conversation, but Bofur wasn’t without perspective. This bit of outsiderness was a mild irritate compared to the horrorshow that was probably most of Fili’s life. Bofur had caught the way Fili had to break down food to small, soft components and the way he held himself as though there was always at least some small ache. 

Fili turned to him, lifted an eyebrow as if aware of his speculation. 

“What?” He asked and then felt immediately stupid when Fili gestured him inside. “Right. Sorry.” 

Warm lights, probably automated, infused the hallway with coziness. The coat hooks were empty. The dining room off to the left was empty of dishes and personal effects. Frowning, Bofur went into the kitchen. He opened cabinets and went into the pantry. Empty. 

“This is wrong,” Kili was saying when he found the party in a bedroom. No furniture at all in that room. Bilbo was standing in the dead center, scanning it. His display lights flashing so quickly and colorfully that Bofur had to wonder if he was making sense of it at all. “It’s...too clean.” 

“This was her room,” Bilbo said softly. “I...I talked with her here once.” 

Then he walked out and Bofur trailed after him, at a loss. 

“Are you remembering?” 

“Why did I take this from myself?” Bilbo braced himself against an empty wall. The paint was darker in a rectangle that suggested a painting once hung there. “It was me, wasn’t it? I’m still angry with you, but...I did the worst of it. I yanked all this out by the roots.” 

“You were protecting something,” Bofur took a chance, laying his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “You did your job.” 

“As you did yours,” Bilbo laughed bitterly. “You’re just as programmed as I am. Work for your boss, do what’s asked of you and don’t think about it too much.” 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Bofur pulled away, stung. “I gave that all up. Even if they make it to Erebor, I won’t get my lab back. My livelihood. I’d do it again too.” 

“Why?” Bilbo went on walking back down the hall. “Why do it at all?” 

“Because I suppose...” Bofur took in the lean line of Bilbo’s back. He might know how every joint fit together, might know how to take it apart, but didn’t surgeons know how to do that to man’s body? It didn’t make him superior, it didn’t make Bilbo something...other. Or it did, but not in the way that mattered. “I suppose because I’ve come to care for you a great deal.” 

Bilbo turned, lips pursed to look him over. Looking for what? Honesty? Was that something he could detect? Certainly there were cues of heart rate and microexpressions. It wasn’t impossible. 

“You make it all so complicated,” Bilbo sighed and turned away. “I’m still sorting through what I am, there’s no room for anything else.” 

“Yeah, I get it. Still here though. If you do sort it out.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

With a stiff nod, Bilbo turned into the next room with Bofur on his heels. It was a nice space, light coming in from the garden. The furniture was gone here too, but there were built in bookshelves that had been left alone. 

“Office?” Bofur hazarded a guess. 

“Something here...” Bilbo wrinkled his nose. “There’s something.” 

“Office’s have desks usually. Filing cabinets? Books, apparently. In this one anyway.” 

“No. No it’s behind and down and....” Bilbo went silent, head tilted at a very strange angle. It made Bofur ache just looking at it. 

“It’s all like this,” Kili paused in the doorway. “Someone washed this place down with bleach. Made sure nothing got left behind.” 

“Why would someone bother?” 

“Two choices: Bella does it to make sure nothing is left for her enemies or her enemies do it because they don’t want leave anything behind for someone looking for them. Or her,”

Kili’s fingers tapped out a rhythm against the doorframe. It’s an uneven pattern, tap click click instead of a tap tap tap. Bofur can’t help, but identify it. Two or three of Kili’s fingers on that hand were prosthesis. Why make his face so obnoxiously obvious and hide his fingers? 

The answer came to him with sick clarity. 

Because the eye was a strength, intimidating and data caching. The fingers were a liability, a sign of weakness like the scarring on his chest. Kili was riddled with old pain, but that wasn’t something he wanted his enemies to know. No wonder Kili knew why the place was cleaned when Bofur would have run in circles around the idea. Kili did his own cleaning. 

“There’s a third option,” Bilbo sounded detached, a hollow echo of his usual voice. Mechanical. 

“What’s that?” Kili straightened, hand falling to his gun as if this unknown enemy would melt out of the woodwork. 

“To keep something safe. It’s obvious that there’s nothing here. So why search it?” Bilbo took a few staggering steps away from the bookshelves, then he was down in his knees and hands over the floorboards again. This time, Bofur saw the recognition software flicker obviously to life. 

“Why the floor?” Bofur asked no one at all. 

“Bilbo Baggins,” a woman’s voice flooded the room. “you continue to exceed my expectations.” 

“Belladonna,” Bilbo’s face crumpled. The voice went on without an acknowledgement of its name. A recording. 

“I suspect I’m dead. Perhaps it was the Orthanc Redaction Company or one of my rivals. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’ve secured our precious...our most precious resource,” the recorded voice faltered for a moment then returned to full strength, “and erased your memory as you once promised. I lied to you about that wipe’s efficacy. Clearly.” 

“What else did you lie about?” Bilbo demanded, but she’s beyond answering. 

“It was important that you thought out it gone. That all was irretrievable. If there was even a hint that it could be gotten from you...our enemies would have torn you apart to find it. You have been....” she stopped again and Bofur could picture her here. At her desk, recording this with some beast breathing down her neck. “You may not believe this, but you’ve become a son to me. I trust you more than my flesh and blood. I made you a little in my image to begin with, you know. And it took on some truth. Anyway. I love you, Bilbo.”   
“I-” Bilbo began and then stopped, features slack in shock. 

“Sentiment aside. Your original mission is as it ever was: secure our precious resource. Keep it safe. Are you in a position to do this? Use the correct word.” 

“Oh,” Bilbo breath caught, “hot crossed buns.” 

The recognition software rippled over the floor, pulling up rapid fire IDs of Bofur and Kili. 

“Good. Among friends. I had hoped you’d make one or two,” the voice continued. “If they aren’t what they seem, they can now be found and eliminated.” 

“What?” Kili started. 

“I don’t think she can do that from beyond the grave,” Bofur assured him, less than positive himself. 

“Listen carefully, Bilbo,” she went on. “User access: administrator. Username: bellaunderhill Passcode: Running Jumping Climbing Swimming Once Twice Three Times a Lady.” 

The light display went abruptly dark and Bilbo slumped like a puppet with cut strings. Bofur ran to him, running hands over his face. Blue lights flickered under his fingers, pathways connecting. 

“Come on, you dear mad thing,” Bofur whispered. “Come on, Bilbo.” 

He wasn’t sure how long he knelt there, talking nonsense. Long enough that his knees began to ache and he almost missed Bilbo’s hands closing over his. 

“I know what we’re looking for.” 

“The precious resource?” 

“The most precious one you can imagine,” Bilbo smiled. A real joyful smile and he embraced Bofur tightly. “We have a ways to travel.” 

“Didn’t have anything else planned, did I?” Bofur hugged him back.


	10. Chapter 10

They found Fili outside in the garden. He was sitting among the flowers with a rose dangling between his fingers. Kili waited into the foliage to squat beside him. 

“What?” He prodded. 

_I can’t remember the last time I had to filter out pollen._

“My nose itches,” Kili didn’t have nasal filters. Of course, his nose hadn’t needed reconstruction. 

_We spend so much time trapped in buildings. Underground. I forgot the sun._

“Fi...” Kili started, then stopped himself. His brother was right. The sun in the city pierced through the smog, but it was a filtered lesser thing. 

_Mother had an herb garden in the window._

It sent Kili crashing down beside Fili. He remembered that window box with it’s sprigs of mint and thyme. She’d let him water it sometimes. He hadn’t thought of her in months, he realized and guilt washed sickly over him. There used to be that there wasn’t day that went by that he wasn’t wishing for some missing piece of her. 

“You never talk about her.” 

_Neither do you. It’s like we just...cut her away with the rest of it._

“Does that make us terrible sons?” 

_I don’t know. No. We remember. We just...we moved on._

“No,” Kili spread his hand wide on his thigh. He could see the seams even if no one else could. “We never move on.” 

They got up together not long after and brushed the grass from their pants. Their grief was copper in Kili’s mouth, but he knew how to push that all down. He watched Fili stride back to the car, arm held close to his body. Probably the joint was bothering him. Kili wished for their stupidly expensive olive oil, the warmth of their dark apartment and the time to take care of it all. Not just Fili’s arm, but all of it. 

“It will be a long drive,” Bilbo told him, falling into step as they approached the car. “I have access to more money now. We have enough for gas. Hotels.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“You won’t like it,” Bofur frowned. “I don’t like it.” 

“I’ll be welcomed there,” Bilbo frowned. “I think I can convince them that you’re allies.” 

“I’m not liking it,” Kili agreed. “Where?” 

“Lothlórien.” 

“The fucking hive mind center of the high risers?” Kili gritted out. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” 

“That’s where the resource is.” 

Kili didn’t ask what the resource was. He couldn’t bare the conversation they would inevitably have when Bilbo told him that he couldn’t tell them. The trust webbing between them was thin and gossamer. A swift wind would tear it away and then where would they be? Kili and Fili striking out on their own to meet back up with Thorin with their tails tucked between their legs? 

“We’ll switch off driving,” Kili turned on his heel and opened the driver’s side door with too much force. “We can be there in a few days.” 

The road gritted itself under Kili’s eyelids. He still did the bulk of the driving, window down and music on to keep himself awake. The others doze in shifts, except for Bilbo, who keeps an ever watchful vigil. They stop to eat and to give Bilbo a chance to recharge at increasingly shady gas stations. 

The signs for Moria drum by and itch at Kili until he was raw at it. 

_Khazad-dûm._ Fili glanced at him. 

“We could dance through the halls of our ancestors,” Kili said lightly. 

_We go around._

Kili offered not one word of argument though the road around was winding and dangerous. 

“We stop for the night. Find a hotel. I can’t tackle that bitch of a road with this little sleep and I don’t trust the rest of you behind the wheel on those switchbacks.” 

“Why aren’t we going through Khazad-dûm?” Bofur leaned forward. “It’s far faster.” 

“Do you really want to see that?” 

Bofur fell silent. No one wanted to see it. Perhaps if Erebor was reclaimed then it would be possible to reopen the mines of Khazad-dûm. Perhaps a mighty empire, not of crime, but legitimate mining could spring forth. But Kili didn’t daydream anymore and he didn’t want to drive through the everlasting darkness of the people that had come before him.

The sign for a sleazy motel that accepted Kili’s money though he was filthy and probably smelled awful. They got one room, two beds. It was safer that way. Bilbo could keep watch. Kili would bed down with Bofur and leave Fili to toss and turn. 

“First shower,” Kili declared, throwing down his bag. 

The bathroom was small and mouldy, but the water was hot and plentiful. Kili let it bang down over him, sweeping away collected dirt. It would be easy to hide there. Maybe take himself in hand and kill some of the tension winding around his spine. 

_If you use up all the water, I will murder you._

How did he always fucking know? Kili growled, but shut off the water and toweled himself roughly dry. The mirror showed nothing new. He dried carefully around the plate. Didn’t dare remove it here, not even to sleep. Anyone could get past that flimsy door and pathetic lock. This time, he’d had had the foresight to bring his clothing back in with him. No need to give Bofur another eyeful. 

“All yours, your majesty,” Kili snapped at Fili when he emerged. 

Fili glanced at the tiny bathroom then frowned and walked in. Casing it. They were both on edge. Kili might’ve stayed right next to the door the entire time the water was running. It was probably an overreaction. They were safe enough. No one knew where they were or where they were headed. Or why. 

But they were in unsafe territory and the world had gotten uncomfortably large the last few days. 

Bofur, apparently not privy to the sleeping arrangements, had sacked out on the bed without Kili’s bag on it. He was already snoring. Bilbo was perched by the window, the dirty curtain shielding him from ready view. 

“How are you?” 

“Integrated,” Bilbo didn’t look away from the window. “It’s strange. I thought it would change me to have my memories back, but I suppose the personality is hardcoded. I don’t find myself reacting any differently to things.” 

Kili licked his lips and then managed, 

“I’m sorry. About your mom.” 

“She wasn’t my mother,” Bilbo rubbed a hand over his leg. It was such a painfully human gesture that Kili wanted to give him a goddamn gold star. Damn Fili. 

“She thought she was.” 

“She built me. She programmed me. That’s what she did. Maybe she helped me....” 

“My mother. Our mother,” Kili swallowed hard. “Look. Sometimes you lose people and maybe they don’t fit in a box like ‘mother’ or whatever, but it still sucks. And you can...be sad about it.” 

“I am,” Bilbo sighed. “I am.” 

“Okay then.” 

Kili lay down over the covers on the slice of bed Bofur wasn’t using and closed his eyes as Fili opened the door from the bathroom. He listened to his brother settle into the bed beside him. When they were younger, before, Kili used to sleep beside Fili when he had a nightmare. Stupid little frights like being chased or falling. Fili would let him with an edge of annoyance, then tell him stories until they both fell back asleep. 

They’d wake up tangled up together in the blankets and their mother would scold Kili for waking his brother. Fili would lie and say that he couldn’t sleep anyway. 

It seemed so long ago. The math said fifteen years and Kili counted it again and again, trying to make sense of that until sleep robbed him of sense. 

He woke to the scent of gun oil and leather. His breath stopped in his chest and he opened his eyes very slowly. The muzzle was pointed at his lips instead of his head. It had an unusual beveling. He knew that beveling. He’d worked on it himself. 

“You’re a long way from home,” he said quietly. Bofur slept on, oblivious beside him. Bilbo stood by the door, an amused smile on his lips. 

“So are you, little one,” Tauriel leaned in and smiled wide at him. “You’re getting sloppy. I could’ve taken you down.” 

“If Bilbo thought you were a threat, you wouldn’t have made it inside,” he put his finger to the muzzle of the gun, tipping it away. “And then Fili would have gotten rid of your body, right?” 

Fili sat up, eyes glittering in the dark. He flicked an annoyed finger at Tauriel. 

“You should be thanking me instead of making ideal threats. Himself sent off and entire guard to spy on your little party. When you and your merry gang split off, he ordered half of us to follow you. I talked him down to just me. Convinced him that it was probably just some kind of milk run.” 

“What does Thranduil care about Erebor?” 

“Don’t do the ‘I’m innocent and dumb’ thing. I taught you that thing,” she holstered her gun. “Where can a girl get a bite to eat around here?” 

They wound up in a diner down the street over four burnt cups of coffee. Bilbo sat across from Tauriel, hands folded. 

“Why should I tell you anything?” 

“You’ve already decided I’m not a threat.” 

“I decided you weren’t a deadly threat,” Bilbo shrugged. “But I don’t know you.” 

“Kili does.” 

“Does Kili trust you?” 

“To a point,” Kili poured cream in his cup, watching with distaste as it turned a muddy grey. “She’s a good person to have at your back.” 

“I see. Fili?” 

_She’s a good shot._ was the begrudging response. _Honorable enough as long as what we want doesn’t conflict with what her master wants. Maybe even then. She’s been known to stray off the path if she doesn’t agree with it._

“If anyone is in the business of caring what I think,” Bofur pushed the coffee aside, “I’ve had dealings with the lady before. Net only. She’s fair in her trades and never cared much for how some people treat synthetics.” 

“I thought you all hated high risers,” Bilbo had Kili in particular pinned down with that one. 

“Uh-” 

“The boys hate certain high risers for a damn good reason,” Tauriel cut in and he could have kissed her. “I’m not crazy about how they generalize it, but I’d be less forgiving in his position. Certainly wouldn’t have made friends with me if I were Kili. Fili never approved of it.”

Fili only shrugged as if he hadn’t nearly come to blows with her that first time she emerged half-naked from Kili’s room. 

“What can I say? I’m an open minded kind of guy,” he smiled, but it felt pasted on. 

“Fine,” Bilbo stared at her. “Fine. This doesn’t leave the table.” 

Kili didn’t stay to hear what abbreviated version of the last week Bilbo decided to give. He went to the bathroom and then outside where he could lean on his car and just not think for a bit. It was Tauriel that eventually joined him, slouching against the hot metal beside him. 

“I’m going with you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I’m leaving the Mirkwood Collective and this seems like a good place to start.” 

“What?” He gaped at her. “You can’t...they’ll track you down. Hell, Legolas probably has a GPS unit subdermally implanted in you.” 

“He did,” she rolled her eyes. “I got it removed and stuck it to a city bus. Let him chase that in circles for a few days.” 

“Tauriel. This is dangerous.” 

“Not something I’m afraid of. The city is vast. I’ll find a nest to hide in while I plan my next move. Perhaps I’ll even start my own collective. I can’t be the only one in the Collective ready to move on. Thranduil has gotten more conservative over the years. There’s chafing over that.” 

“He has fingers and eyes everywhere.” 

“I know most of them. I’m not asking your permission, Kili.” 

“Whatever I can do to help you,” he hesitated. It was bad diplomacy to give an open ended promise. But they weren’t diplomats to each other anymore. Perhaps they really could be friends, if they were both free. Free as it was possible to be anyway. 

“And I you.” 

The others joined them long minutes later. Tauriel’s bike roared out beside the car, keeping pace all the way up the mountainside. Kili caught glimpses of her hair, streaked out behind her like a bloody banner as they climbed. Bilbo and Bofur rattled on excitedly in the back about some point of mechanics. 

Going back down was harder. Kili gave his concentration to the road, tuning out everything else. It was only when they safely reached the bottom that he took in a deep breath and let it out. 

_Can I look now?_

“You big baby,” Kili laughed and reached over to knock Fili’s hands away from his eyes. 

_You didn’t see what it was. God, Kili. I can’t believe that didn’t kill us._

“It’s just a road,” he said with bravado he didn’t feel. 

Tauriel was waiting for them at a turn off in the road. 

“Their isolationists,” she gestured to the woods. “no roads here.” 

“We walk,” Bilbo agreed. 

“Ugh,” Kili groaned, but he was grateful for the chance to stretch his legs. The terrain wasn’t terribly uneven. The forest itself was pretty, in it’s way and creepy too. It reminded him of the arboreum that the Mirkwood Collective kept. The room always made him uneasy. 

Their path was cut by Bilbo, who seemed to have a map in his feet. He followed a stream for the most part though they departed and returned to it a few times. Bofur engaged Tauriel in chatter about the wildlife and it was very nearly pleasant. 

It was the second time that day that someone with a gun snuck up on him. Kili was faster this time, awake and angry. He drew one right in return. Their little group was surrounded by high risers. They all reminded him of Thranduil, tall and fair and slender as aliens. One of them made the mistake of poking Fili with the muzzle of his gun, sending an arch of electric pulse through the weapon and into the high riser’s body. 

“None of that, boy,” another one snarled. There was no gun in that one’s hand, only a small handheld device that Kili didn’t recognize quickly enough. The burst of an EMP and Fili dropped. 

“FILI!” Kili was on his knees, straddling his brother. So careful, even now, not to touch. “Don’t you fucking dare! You stay with me, you bastard!”  
“He’s got biotech organs, you fucking careless morons!” Tauriel was shouting. “He’s going to die if you don’t reverse it!” 

Kili bit his own hand so he wouldn’t scream. Once, there had been marks just there on his thumb where he’d dug in deep enough to scar. He couldn’t scream. Fili had told him not to. 

“Don’t make a noise, not a sound,” Fili had held him tight like he was a small boy with a nightmare again, instead of a strong teenager. “Don’t give them the satisfaction.” 

But Fili was quiet now. Kili tasted blood.


	11. Chapter 11

In the horrifying stutter of seconds that followed, Bilbo noticed something. He couldn’t help, but notice things even when a human mind would seize up. There was no barrier between him and data. Even as Tauriel ripped the EMP device from the limp hand of a guard and shoved it at Bofur with rough pleas to hurry, Bilbo was frantic with worry and sadness, but also noticing the angle of the light, the strange body structure of the guards which was subtly different from Tauriel’s odd ligaments and Elrond’s lanky musculature. He heard the harsh heave of Kili’s distressed breathing and tasted the many elements of the air. 

And he noticed Kili arched over Fili. A two pieced puzzle, he now realized. He imagined their positions reversed, Kili prone on the ground and Fili above him. Their injuries were matched that way, all along the same side. Kili’s burned side and bad eye, Fili’s missing arm. Bilbo could see now where the older brother must have thrown himself over the younger, protective. Something not only hot, but concussive. Some kind of explosion that turned Fili’s arm into useless slag and sang indelibly into Kili’s ribs. Perhaps Kili’s own wounded hand had flown up to grab Fili’s bicep, a reflective action. 

“There,” Bofur let out a hard breath. “That should be his internal systems working again at least, but I couldn’t get his secondary stuff going. Too complex for a blunt weapon,” Bofur stuffed the device into his pocket with a severe look at the guard. 

“Fili,” Kili coaxed and it was too soft and pained. Kili was gruff humor and hard edges. He wasn’t this: melted and wounded. Young. “Come on, Fi. Wake up for me.” 

“You can touch him,” Bofur squatted down, hand already halfway there. “His defenses-” 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Kili hissed. “Permission first.” 

“Sorry,” Bofur dropped his hand. 

Kili’s attention returned to Fili as though it had never strayed. 

“Come on, Fi,” Kili dipped his head down, closer to Fili’s ear. Their cheeks a scant inch apart. “Wake up for me.” 

“His vital signs are growing stronger,” Bilbo put in because he wasn’t quite sure what Kili would do if he wasn’t reassured. “They weren’t offline long enough to cause permanent damage.” 

“Hear that, asshole,” Kili growled. “Up and at ‘em. No napping on a damn job.” 

“Give him a minute,” Tauriel put her hand on Kili’s shoulder, but he threw that off too. 

“Fili, I’m scared,” it was too soft for Bofur or even Tauriel to hear, but Bilbo could make out every syllable. “I need you.” 

A cough, a twitch and Fili’s eyes were wide open, his wrist already twisting to summon the blades he’d so often used. When it didn’t come his brow wrinkled. 

“EMP,” Kili said with level surety as if he’d never been upset to begin with. “Took out your internals and externals. Got internals back up.” 

_Scared?_ The letters wobbled, dissolved. Bilbo frowned. That made little sense. Fili’s words were just text. If his power was low they might dim, but they wouldn’t...manifest weakly like that. Like a voice wobbling. 

“No,” Kili reassured him. “Fine. It’s all fine. Well, not fine. But.” 

“We have been instructed to take you to see the lady,” one of the guards stepped forward, chin held high. 

It took some time for Fili to get to his feet, but he managed it and then set off walking brazenly forward as if the rest of them were holding him up. Kili stayed at his side, glaring away any offers of help. 

“Not a great introduction,” Bofur murmured. 

“If they allowed us to just waltz in, then they wouldn’t be the type of people that I’d entrust with something so important,” Bilbo pointed out. 

“Did you choose this place? Not Belladonna?” 

“It was me. She helped me make the proper connections, but I thought that this particular enclave would be our best choice. They’re strong, deep rooted in the local community and have the wealth to be a sovereign nation for all intents and purposes. The resource is precious to them too.” 

Bofur asked no more and Bilbo wanted very much to thank him for that. The guards lead them deeper into the forest until they reached the village that Bofur remembered. He had loved these houses with their delicate lines that rested among the trees as if they’d grown there. 

“I met them here, for the first time. I came alone, reconnaissance,” it had been the first time Bilbo had felt fear. It had been almost novel, interesting and if it hadn’t been so distracting he might almost have enjoyed it. “They eat in a communal hall. The houses don’t have kitchens for the most part.” 

“Huh,” Bofur looked over them. “It’s pretty. In an eerie sort of way.” 

“Eerie.” Bilbo rolled the word over and decided that that was it exactly. There was ethereal quality to the community that he’d never been able to articulate. 

They’re led to a waiting area which is outside, but cleverly roofed by interlocked branches. Fili basically collapsed onto one of the benches, holding himself up by sheer force of will. Kili stood beside him, a mountain of sharp edges and warnings. Tauriel took up the other side, less formidable, but Bilbo didn’t doubt her strength. 

“How long a story do you think it is?” Bofur asked quietly. Bilbo hadn’t realized how close the man had gotten. 

“What story?” 

“The story of matching burn marks.” 

“You noticed that?” 

“I know I’m not enhanced out the wazoo, but even I can put two and two together after awhile.” 

“When did you realize?” 

“Back at Bag End. Kili’s fingers...doesn’t matter. I was sort of hoping you’d say I was crazy.” 

“Why?” Bilbo frowned. “It was logical enough.” 

“Because I used to think they earned those wounds scrapping. Over a lot of years, right? But if they didn’t...if it was mostly all at once, I can’t bear to think of what might’ve been done to them.” 

All at once, Bilbo wasn’t angry with him anymore. Some switch flipped over and all he could do was clasp Bofur’s hand in his. Bofur blinked in surprise and then held on with tenacity. It was nice, the calloused warmth of his hold. 

“The lady will see you now, Mr. Baggins. And the toymaker.” 

“What?” Bofur’s hand squeezed a little harder. “Why?” 

“We don’t ask her reasons.” 

She wasn’t far away. She waited beneath a bower of white roses, her long pale hair just as Bilbo remembered it. When she saw him, she smiled and it was the sun pushing through the clouds. Bofur sucked in a breath, caught just as so many had been caught by her before. It wasn’t merely beauty, but the weight of her presence. 

“Galadriel,” her name came out as a sigh.

“You have been much missed, Bilbo,” she knelt down and embraced him. He held her back and a sob caught in his throat, taking him utterly off guard. She smelled like home, like green things and smoke and clay. “We worried for you when you were lost.” 

“I’m back now,” he clung to her. “I found my way home.” 

“You had help,” she stood slowly, not quite releasing him, so that her pale fingers lingered in his hair. “Thank you, toymaker.” 

“I was not much use. I think I hurt more then helped,” Bofur’s hat swept off his head and he bowed in a messy sort of way. “I’m Bofur, but you seem to know that already.” 

“We know your work very well here,” she extended a hand and Bofur shook it with wide eyes. “Sir Bearsalot was popular with our children.” 

“Oh,” Bofur shifted nervously. “I...it’s a very old thing now, I suppose.” 

“We let our children play for longer than most,” she studied Bofur’s face. “What do you think of our Bilbo?” 

“He’s lovely,” Bofur said quickly then flushed. “Um. I mean, I like him. Very much.” 

“You don’t think of him as a synthetic.” 

“Well, no I suppose I don’t. It’s hard to hold it in my head when we’re just working together. And this whole quest thing.” 

“Hm,” she carded a hand through Bilbo’s curls. “Come along.” 

Her strides were long and they both had to hurry to keep pace. She led them down and down and down until they stood at the roots of a great tree. A door, elegant and curved, stood before them. Bilbo wished he could see through the thick metal of it. He was sick with impatience now. Her hands danced over a security panel. 

When the door finally slid open, Bofur let out a low whistle, 

“That was not one of the options.” 

The hallway was just as it had been at Bag End, but it didn’t stand empty. All the furniture and missing details were here. Even Belladonna’s travel cloak hung on a peg. Bilbo reached out to touch the soft fabric. There was the wear pattern at the edge of the sleeve where she caught it on the same rose bush branch until he trimmed it back. 

She was gone. The thought took root finally, but this was not the time to mourn her. A tear escaped anyway, salt hot and manufactured. She’d given him tear ducts. She had said it was cruel to make something that could be sad and not give it a way to release that feeling. 

“Was this yours?” Bofur took down a soft brown jacket and held it to Bilbo’s body. 

“Yes,” he took it gently. The buttons still shined. He shrugged it on and felt a little more himself, another lost piece slotted back into place. 

“Here,” Galadriel gestured and walked into kitchen. 

Sitting at the table was a small boy with dark curls and eyes as blue as the sky. The most precious thing that Bilbo knew on this godforsaken earth. 

“My dear boy,” the words stuck in his throat, came out raw and ragged. 

The boy looked up from his meal and those impossible eyes went wide. 

“Uncle!” Tiny legs went quick over the floorboards and launched him upward into Bilbo’s waiting arms. 

If hugging Galadriel had felt like coming home, then this felt like discovering Heaven. Frodo was bigger, of course, inches larger and pounds heavier, but he was still the dearest child in creation. Bilbo hugged him close. 

“I missed you,” Frodo started to cry, clinging so hard that Bilbo’s joints creaked with it. 

“I’m so sorry,” Bilbo kissed his forehead. “I had to keep you safe and then I lost my way, but I’m back here now. I’m not leaving you.” 

“I don’t understand,” Bofur said beside him. “This is your resource? He’s just a child.” 

“Never just a child,” Galadriel said softly. “This is Frodo Baggins. The only FRD unit ever created by the most forward thinking synthetic creator. Belladonna made him.” 

“Why a child synthetic?” 

“Because he’s not a synthetic,” Bilbo cradled the back of Frodo’s neck. 

“He was born, toymaker,” Galadriel sounded nearly amused. “Grown in a womb and he grows still.” 

“That’s not possible.” 

“I am too possible,” Frodo blinked back tears to glare at Bofur. 

“Well, yes,” Bofur laughed. “I see that. But how?” 

“Grandma put me into Mama’s belly and then I was born,” Frodo said as though this was amply obvious. 

“She made a synthetic fetus and programmed it to grow,” Bilbo couldn’t stop looking at Frodo, overwhelmed by him, “ A very tiny core of him is metal based, but he converts food the way a human would, turns it into fuel and organic cells. She based some of his neural mapping on mine. So that makes me his uncle. When she...well. He’s in my charge. You can understand why we have to keep him safe.” 

“Yes...god. Yes,” Bofur shook his head. “Every major corporation in the world would want a piece of that kind of technology.” 

“She designed paternal affection for him into me after his creation. I didn’t really need the programming though. I think I would have loved him as my own no matter what.” 

“You’re staying?” Frodo demanded. “Right?” 

“There’s nowhere else in the world for me to be,” Bilbo assured him. 

“We’ve been sending him to school with our own children, “ Galadriel swept a hand around the house. “This place is yours for as long as you want it.” 

“Thank you.” Bilbo closed his eyes. He missed the flicker of regret on Bofur’s face.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains discussion of torture.

She came for him in the dead of night. Fili had finally recaptured his breath, regulated the function of heart, lungs and liver. His kidney was still lagging behind, insulin levels lower than he preferred. It was a naked thing to be so stripped of his secondary systems. Without blades, without electric fence and poison reserves, he was down to the sheer force of fists to keep Kili safe. Not nearly enough. 

Those thoughts plagued him as he sat at the foot of the borrowed bed while Kili curled tight under the blankets behind him. That’s when she came in, wrapped in a white cloak and her finger crooked to beckon him. 

Fili glanced back at Kili then to her. She gestured to guards, one on either side of the door. That wasn’t a guarantee of safety, but it was the best he was going to get. So he followed her and together they went silently out of the guest house and to the courtyard where a stone fountain quietly spilled from bowl to bowl. 

_Little one,_ her text emerged as if from smoke in his vision. _You have grown powerful since I saw you last._

_I was a child then._

_As you are now. In some ways, my child,_ Galadriel sat on a low bench and he sat down beside her. _Do you still keep your silences?_

After everything, he had woken in a hospital bed with his throat so much red meat and her at his side, talking right into his skull. His ears had been badly damaged too, not yet corrected. The silence might have driven him crazy if it wasn’t for her ghostly words. 

_Organics are too sensitive._

_You cut yourself off._

_How can I explain it?_ His anger flared up, the rage right at his fingertips. _You made me even more of a freak! A telepath in the cyborg body._

_There is nothing freakish about you._

_Everything about me is freakish. Even before...before. You know that._

She had caught him. Deep in the humming night, crawling in beside his brother. Kili clung in his sleep, the entanglement of their bodies banishing any hope of a mere fraternal assurance. That had been the last time and Fili still clung to the memory with a ferocity that rivaled his anger. He had seen Galadriel spy them together and it all became too much. Their mother was gone, they were left like roadkill and his mind had been forever changed. Kili needed him to be an adult, to be a parent. They never shared a bed again, no matter how many times Kili tried. 

_Your love for your brother is the sanest thing about you._ She countered. The moon rose fractionally higher, its light refracting into the fountain. 

_We’ll have to agree to disagree there._

_Why do you think you hurt people when you speak to them?_

_Thorin. He hurts, I can tell._

_And that was the whole of your test group? That’s just poor science, little one._

_Why should I injure people? I don’t mind staying quiet. It’s steadying, in a way._

_It’s isolationist and unkind to yourself. You haven’t been going to therapy, obviously._

Fili didn’t reply which was probably an answer into and of itself. 

_Little One, have you ever spoken about it?_

_What would be the point? Talking about it doesn’t change it._

_You’re heart may be mechanical, but your feelings are still very real. You can’t lock them away forever. You’ll kill yourself that way, one day at a time._

A twig snapped in half and both of them went tense and very still. Bofur emerged from the underbrush looking equally surprised to find them there. 

“Sorry, couldn’t sleep,” he coughed. “Um, I’ll just go along then.” 

“No,” Galadriel rose. “You should stay. I grow weary and Fili could use the company.” 

“Oh, sure. Sleep well.” 

She brushed her hand over Fili’s forehead. 

_He might surprise you. One who loves so well and deeply to make a empathic toy must have room for many odd things inside his heart._

Fili stared at the water. It was oddly still for a fountain, the pouring water barely rippling the surface. He was aware of Bofur settling beside him, bringing with him the scent of motor oil and electrodes. 

“I think Bilbo will stay here,” Bofur told him, voice low in deference to the grove’s quiet. “I’m not sure what to do next. I admit that meeting up with the others in Erebor isn’t appealing.” 

Fili imagined the trek. He could see his own finger tracing the route from the Shire to Erebor. A promise made and broken in his heart of hearts almost immediately. He thought about their apartment, that dark stuffy miserable warren high in the aerie of the city and all the wolves that lurked outside the door. He thought about Kili, devastated and shaking under a facade of strength, not just today, but always under his skin. More than anything, Fili wanted to take him far from all of it. Install themselves in some safe place where they could live out their lives in peace. 

_We’re not going._ He projected the thought with care, gingerly as he knew how. If Galadriel was wrong, then what had he lost? A moment of someone elses’ discomfort. He watched Bofur closely as he tried, but there was no wince. Just wide eyed amazement. 

“Was that...is that you?” 

_Yes._

“I swear this is the first time I think I really do get to do six impossible things before breakfast,” Bofur laughed. “How are you doing that? Could you always? Is it a biomech thing?” 

_It’s an experimental thing. Galadriel used to work in an underground hospital. When we were treated there, it was for free. Or at least, no money was exchanged. Uncle approved it all._

“So...what? You can hear my thoughts?” 

_No. Never even tried. But I can talk into biomech interfaces without any programming involved and apparently organic minds too. This isn’t hurting you?_

“Nah. Bit peculiar. Like...the letters sort of tingle. It’s odd because I see them, but they don’t interfere with my vision. Must be going right past my ocular nerves and into my head,” Bofur looked thoughtful. “I wonder if they just translate as text because that’s what you’re used to.” 

_It always just came out that way._

“We should experiment. Thanks, by the way, for trying with me.” 

_Galadriel said I should. She thinks it would be good for me. To talk more._

“Can’t hurt. People are social critters, you know. We don’t do very well in isolation.” 

_I don’t always consider myself a person._

“Why?” 

_I’m barely thirty percent organic these days. Every time they think they’re done, I’m back again for something else._

“Someone sure did do a number on you,” Bofur said mildly. “But that doesn’t make you less human.”

_Some of the things I’ve done have though._

“Things you did to protect the family.” 

_To protect the business. It started off as a family thing, but now...I don’t want to go back to Uncle and his orders. I can’t. I’ll lose whatever I have left._

“So don’t. There’s plenty of places that you could be of use. Strong, fast, good with synthetics. Could do nearly anything.” 

_That is far more optimistic than I can manage._

“Might be time to review your outlook there, lad.” 

_I’m not a child._ Fili’s hands fisted and then released. He was all jumbled up, tired and hurting. For the first time in many years, he wished he could actually be a child. He badly wanted someone else to help him, to explain what he should do. How to make it all just stop being so hard. 

“You are to me,” Bofur smiled and it didn’t seem condescending. “I’ve been around a fair bit longer.” 

_I stopped being a child when they took us. When they killed our mother in front of us and left her body to rot in our cell._ It bled out of him all at once, this stream of black bile that had pooled for too long in his belly. _We didn’t even know who they were, only that they hated us and they kept demanding information about Thorin that we didn’t have. Bank codes, locations...we were dizzy with it. They beat the shit out of us...Kili was just sixteen. Sixteen. Fuck._

_We were there for days when they decided that if I wasn’t going to talk then maybe they could scare Kili into giving something up. They poured some chemical mix down my throat and it burned everything in its path. They held him down. Made him watch. When they were done, they left me there and I could feel it searing through me, eating away. I could talk anymore and Kili couldn’t stop crying, so I was just holding him._

_Thorin rescued us. Brought in a team. But they had bad blueprints. They set charges along a wall they thought was an empty storage closet. The fire...I can’t explain it. How it fast it happened and how little I could do. I thought we were both going to die._

_But we lived. They told me that Kili was in good condition because I’d thrown myself on top of them. I hadn’t. We were just clinging to each other. Desperate. We had no idea the blast was coming. Just luck that I took the worst of it. I nearly did die a few times. The chemical kept eating at my insides and they put me under over and over to replace things until I was more biomech than organic. We were both still unconscious when they buried Mom. We couldn’t even go to her graveside until months later._

_Thorin signed our bodies away. Then our souls when we went to work for him. I don’t think I’ll ever really forgive him for that._

_So yeah, you’ve seen a few more years than me, but I think I’m no one’s child anymore._

Fili waited for disgust or pity or for the chiding that surely it wasn’t as bad as all that. He never had told anyone, but some people knew. It had been a rogue faction of Tharanduil’s people that took them, so Tauriel knew about it. Ori had been on the rescue team that fumbled so badly. The story was legend among the inner circle of Thorin’s collective, but none of them dared to speak of it. 

He glanced at Bofur and found tears in the man’s eyes. 

“Can I hug you?” 

_What?_

“Kili told me that I shouldn’t touch you without permission. So I’m asking. Can I hug you?” 

_Yes?_

He wasn’t expecting to be enveloped. Bofur wasn’t much larger than him. At first, it was too much, too strange after he’d stripped himself raw, but he eased into it when Bofur didn’t pull away or hold too hard. His chin wound up on Bofur’s shoulder and he had to hug back eventually to keep the position from getting awkward. It was still too many limbs and too much and...

Comfort. It was just pure comfort and kindness and Fili, for the first time in years uncountable, wept. Tears for himself, for his brother, for the whole goddamn fucked up world that gave him this pocket to breath in, so little, so very late. 

“I’m sorry, lad,” Bofur murmured over and over again, “I’m so sorry.” 

And it wasn’t Bofur’s fault, but the words were hypnotizing anyway. No one had ever apologized for it. No one had ever implied it was anything less than his own fault. His fault for not being more careful, his fault for taking Thorin’s orders, his fault for agreeing to more and more surgeries that left him unrecognizable to himself. 

When he had to pull away, to breath, Bofur handed him a much wrinkled handkerchief. 

“Took it off Bilbo. He had loads of them in that house, would you believe it?” 

_I do actually._ Fili blew his nose and made a face at the grossness of it all. _You should stay here with him. He’s figuring it out. How to be human. You could help._

“He’s got a child to raise.” 

_The more parents the better, I think._

“I’m no kind of father,” Bofur shrugged. “I’d be in the way.” 

_I don’t think so._ He dashed the last of the tears away with the back of his hand. There was a hollowness in his chest that also felt a small fraction lighter and looser. Damn Galadriel. Somehow she was always right about these things. _You could make toys again._

“I could,” Bofur smiled, just a hint of joy behind his eyes. “I really could.” 

“Fi?” Kili called out nervously into the darkness. “Where the hell are you?” 

“Right, I’ll be going then,” Bofur got to his feet, but not before he squeezed Fili’s shoulder. It was strange, casual touch had become so foreign to him. “Get some sleep.” 

_Over here, by the fountain._ Fili sent, watching Bofur slip away. 

It took Kili a few minutes to find him. When he emerged it was still in his low slung pajama pants and his hair rucked up on one side. Experimentally, Fili stood to greet him and reached out to fix the askew locks. Kili froze as Fili carded through his hair. He’d forgotten how soft Kili’s hair was, thick between his fingers. 

“Are you okay?” 

_No._

“Oh.” 

_I think I’ve been doing everything wrong for a very long time._

“What do you mean?” 

_What were you going to tell me in the tunnels? When you thought we were going to die?_

“It doesn’t matter,” Kili turned his face away and Fili had to stop that. He took Kili’s chin, forced him to meet his eyes. 

_I’m ready to listen now. Tell me._

“I..” Kili sucked in a breath. “I was going to tell you that I loved you. That I always did. Always will. Even if it was wrong. That you’ve never stopped being human and amazing. Not to me. Even if you didn’t care for me anymore that way.” 

_I never ever stopped loving you. We couldn’t do things that way anymore. You were too young and then we were both too fucked up. It would have torn us to shreds._

“But we’re in pieces already,” Kili jerked his head way, took a step back. “It all hurts, all the time. Why can’t we give each other that little bit of comfort. Would that really be so wrong?” 

And for years, Fili would have said yes to that. It would have ruined them. He still believed that, but Kili wasn’t a child now, anymore than Fili was. They had become men somewhere along the way and maybe they were hard men, not very good at heart. Maybe they wanted things that transgressed social boundaries and would disgust the man they once called Uncle. But their Uncle had given them away too cheaply and society had no use for them. It was just the two of them here, near a quiet fountain, finally safe and as free as they could be. 

_Come here, _Fili opened his arms, _Come here and kiss me._ __

__It took too much coaxing to get Kili close again, but when their lips finally did touch, it was without any hesitation. Kili kissed with violence, hands fisting into Fili’s shirt and his teeth sinking into Fili’s bottom lip. Fili held his ground, gave him everything. They’d both waited too long to be denied now._ _

__They didn’t have sex that night. It was enough, almost too much, for them to lay naked beside each other. Kili’s hands swept over and over Fili’s skin until he began to feel raw from it. He never looked at himself naked anymore, wasn’t used to the way a lover’s fingers would catch on the map of scars. In return, he learned the terrain of Kili all over again. There were new valleys and strange craggy mountains where the fire had licked at him. They were neither of them pristine, but Fili began to believe that perhaps they were both something new, something fresh. Maybe something even a little beautiful._ _


	13. Epilogue

The boy had many parents. There was Bilbo, first and foremost, beloved Uncle, who was storyteller and master of all bedtime rituals. It was Bilbo that taught Frodo how to use his too quick mind and how to filter the endless barrage of information into something manageable. 

Then there was Galadriel, mother protector, standing guard in the empty place that Belladonna had once occupied. She watched over Frodo’s schooling, leading him away from the palaces of logic and concrete fact into the complicated maze of spirituality and the unquantifiable. By her side, countering her every argument was Tauriel full of practicality and a stunning lack of sentiment. 

From Kili, Frodo learned the use of a dozen weapons. Each gun and blade they put into his hands came along with a prayer that he would never need to use them. Kili gave him every tool he could for survival. Through those lessons of fist and metal, there was something else conveyed: the thirst for life. Of all of his caretakers, it was Kili who taught Frodo why surviving was so important. Why life was worth it. 

Fili took Kili’s raw emotion and formed it into something understandable. It was Fili that would sit endlessly by the creek as Frodo worked through his first heartbreak and moral conundrums. It was Fili that taught Frodo how to listen to silences and find the meaning between words. They built a silence together, inviolable and as important as any of Bilbo or Galadriel’s words. 

Frodo had many parents. He cherished each of them. Yet there was only one that he gave a title. It was the unconscious choice of a child, a placement of such utter naive trust that it still resonated years later. 

It was the night Bofur meant to leave, but that didn’t mean much. He was forever preparing to leave. They had come to Lothlórien months ago. No one had asked him to stay, but neither was he told to go. Bilbo had made up a bed for him in Bag End, but their routine of work and food had been forever disrupted as Bilbo became more and more caught up in the workings of the town. Bofur was at loose ends, spending his days on rambling walks and helping where he could at the school without getting in the way. 

Which meant he was there every morning when Frodo woke up, happy to have the busy purpose of cooking a meal, checking over homework assignments and packing something extra into the boy’s bag for lunch. His work around the little school meant that he was the one privy to all the little dramas of a growing boy’s life. He was the one that bandaged scraped elbows and wiped away hot tears. 

“Look!” Frodo shouted one afternoon, charging at Bofur’s legs with all the easy expectation of being caught. Bofur swung him up with a laugh. 

“What am I looking at?” He carried Frodo back toward Bag End. 

“I finished it!” Frodo opened his hands to reveal a fragile mechanical butterfly. It was a complicated set of gilded gears and it made Bofur’s heart ache just to look at it. He had sat beside Frodo and drawn up the plans for such a thing, but he hadn’t had the right tools. 

Bofur missed making beautiful things, these mechanical impractical jewels. The sketch had been a lark, just to show the boy how it might be done. 

“Frodo,” Bofur breathed out. “It’s amazing. How did you do it?” 

“Just like you showed me, Dad,” Frodo tucked his head into Bofur’s neck, flushed with the compliment. “It wasn’t hard.” 

“Oh,” Bofur closed his eyes and swallowed down hard. “Well. We’ll have to find a place for it in the living room then.”

The first time Bilbo heard it, Bofur waited for the axe to fall at last. 

“Dad said I could go out and play,” the boy had whined when Bilbo stopped him at the door. Bilbo had been so stunned that he allowed Frodo to keep running by him. 

“I’m sorry,” Bofur offered lamely. “I could ask him to stop.” 

“No,” Bilbo turned to look out over the garden where Frodo was collecting up dirt for some imaginary play. “It’s fine.” 

“He’s yours though.” 

“He’s a person. He doesn’t belong to anyone.” 

“Being a person generally means belonging. We spend most of our lives trying to find that.”   
“You’re including me in that statement,” Bilbo leaned against the doorframe, the strain in his shoulders clear under the worn cotton of his shirt. 

“Of course I am,” Bofur no longer doubted, not even for an instant, what Bilbo was. 

“I want for him to belong. I want things. I don’t understand that. How can I want? Feel? How was it done with what quirk of circuitry? Why would someone breath life into something as unfeeling and cold as metal?” 

“Don’t you think we ask the same questions?” Bofur closed the gap between them, set his hand on Bilbo’s shoulders. “You were made precisely because we do. Why should a collection of tissue and bone write poetry or paint? What is the point of all this intelligence? I was raised to think that we were made in God’s image. So what if we’re all just God’s way of trying to understand God?”

“That’s a big question,” Bilbo turned his face up to Bofur, a slight smile playing on the edges of his lips. “Too big for one person to answer.” 

“Probably,” Bofur shrugged. “But there it is, anyway. The point is, you’re no less human for being made in a lab. No less confused for being circuits instead of synapses.” 

“Do you love me?” 

“Yes,” Bofur answered without a moment’s hesitation though the question surprised him. “Very much.” 

“I thought so.” Bilbo leaned up and kissed him once, very dry and soft. 

“Ah,” Bofur put his fingers to his lips and smiled. “Do you love me?” 

“I’ve only just worked out my humanity. Give me a few minutes to sort out my life changing emotions,” Bilbo sniffed. 

“All the time you need,” Bofur promised, before dragging him into a tight hug. 

There were years ahead. Years to watch Frodo to grow up smart and kind and flawed. Years to see Fili and Kili soften together into smiling uncles and Tauriel grow into Galadriel’s place as Galadriel left their small town behind for the greater work of changing the world. There would be new struggles, new quests and new pains. Time never cared to slow for the revelations of a few. Still, Bofur never quite gave up his wonder at it all and he never ceased to be grateful for the day a broken synthetic had woken all too real before him.


End file.
